The Once and Future King
by Rose and Psyche
Summary: "Life and death upon one tether And running beautiful together." - Robert P. Tristram Coffin. A retelling of The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe with a great deal of 'what ifs' and 'how nows'. Alternate Universe.
1. The Pied Piper

The Pied Piper

* * *

_Does cold exist?_

_Cold, in truth, is only a figment of our imaginations, a thought we trick out of reality. Cold does not exist, cold is only that place where heat is not._

_Does darkness exist?_

_Darkness does not exist; darkness is the absence of light. Light we can study, but not darkness._

_Evil, in turn, is the absence of goodness, the corruption of all things pure and right. Evil does not exist; it is like darkness and cold. Aslan did not create evil. Evil is only that place where he is not._

~Stormrunner, prophet of Narnia, in the year 899

* * *

In England, It was 1939, the days of slide rules and stick shifts…they didn't know what seatbelts were and records were cutting edge enough for them. That was the year Amelia Earhart was officially declared dead and the year the nations of the world started to shell out ultimatums. Things were on the edge of boiling in Europe and in the Far East they had been boiling for a while. War was on the wind.

There was only a hint of color in the oak that stood next the house that August and when Edmund went outside he could look up thought the branches and see the barrage balloons gamboling above the city like silver elephants on tethers. There was a feeling of excitement in the air, a cold anticipation that could be cut with a knife. To Lucy, who was only seven, it was a feeling of going away, for all her friends had been packed up and sent away to the country and she thought that perhaps it would be summer holls all over again. They lived in Chelsea, one of the many boroughs of London and though it was part of Town, they didn't consider it Town.

They thought of Peter and Susan as the elders. Peter was seventeen and terribly grown up in their eyes. He was going to go into the RAF, he declared, just as father had during the Great War.

"Will this be another Great War?" Lucy had asked.

"We all hope not," Peter had said quietly and Lucy felt that he hadn't really answered her question at all.

It was late August when Susan saw the unopened yellow envelop of the telegram lying on the kitchen table. Her father was a brain surgeon, who worked at Charing Cross and she could hear him whistling merrily to himself as he closed the front door and took off his hat and gloves.

"Hullo Susan!" he called cheerfully, looking wistfully at the kettle. Susan laughed and put it on, then turned to look at him, very seriously for her fifteen years.

"There's a telegram for you."

"Has mother read it?"

"She hasn't gotten back from Town with Lucy yet. They went to get her a new winter coat."

Her father snatched it up from the table and looked it over as if it were one of his patients. "It's from Digory."

He tore it open and his face lit.

"So, he's agreed to have you!"

"What?" Susan exclaimed.

He handed it to her as the kettle began to boil and she glanced at the message, 'Send them along.'

"This is your old friend in Lancashire?" Susan asked. "What does he mean, 'send them along'?"

"Exactly what it says," her father said, "Sorry old girl. You're mother and I just don't feel right about keeping you. If there is a war, London will be bombed. You and Peter and Lucy and Edmund are all going up north to stay with Digory."

"Oh," Susan said softly. She had been expecting it… she really had. "Aren't we a bit old? I can see Edmund and Lucy going, but not us two older ones."

"You are, technically," Father said, swigging his tea, "I'm a little worried about Peter, really. He's set on joining up as soon as he's old enough and I thought that if we sent him up there- and it's a beautiful place- he might forget about it for a bit."

"I don't think that's terribly likely," Susan said with a sad smile. "You know what he's like."

"Yes, we all know what he's like."

The front door slammed and a cap went spinning up onto the hat stand.

"What who's like?" Peter asked good-naturedly, glancing over his shoulder.

Susan rolled her eyes.

"There's one other thing," father continued as Peter stared down the spout of the kettle, then proceeded to fill it with more water. "Aunt Alberta wrote asking us if she could send Eustace along with you."

"Eustace!" Susan exclaimed.

"She's afraid he'll be bullied if he goes to people he doesn't know," father said. "So you'll just have to deal with it."

"Deal with what?" Peter asked, reaching down a can of shortbread biscuits from a high cupboard. "What's going on, anyway?"

~o*o~

Glenridding was a beautiful place.

Every inch of it seemed to be farmland, fields of wheat and hay, stretching for miles. They saw a team of great English draft horses pulling a thresher and as stone walls raced down the tracks past them; they saw the tangle of barbed wire and locked eyes for a fleeting moment with a cow philosophically chewing her cud.

As they stood on the platform, the shadows were growing longer and the sun was low in the sky and off in the distance, they could just see the sparkle of the sun off Ullswater, the long lake in the west.

Deep in the craggy rises where the mist was hanging in the valley and the hills were plummeting into the lake, the vibrant green was clinging to the ribs of rock that rose from the earth like a giant's cairn. Rusty heather grew up the valley, blooming in spring and dark in summer, the highland wind rushing down like a fury to touch the face of the lake.

"If we were higher up, we could see the mountains of Scotland," Peter had explained, because he had been soaking in a map of the area during their journey. "And if we all turned into birds and flew due west, we would see the Isle of Man."

"Not likely, eh?" Edmund had commented, good-naturedly shoving Eustace.

"What?"

"Turning into birds."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Eustace was a sallow, thin, puny little fellow who looked as if he were perpetually sucking on a lemon. They had tried to include him, but when he refused to be included they resorted to leaving him along.

"He's a little strange," Peter had commented after he'd offered to teach Eustace how to whittle and had been flatly turned down.

"I think he was born that way." Edmund said.

They piled their suitcases and gas masks on a nearby bench and stood, watching a distant speck of sail beating across the lake. A tall maple to their right was just beginning to be singed by the cold weather. Winter was coming. Susan turned to button Lucy's new red coat higher about her neck.

"What's he like?" Lucy asked suddenly.

"Who?" Edmund wondered.

"Mr. Kirke."

"Haven't the faintest," Peter said. "I'll I know is that he flew with father in the Great War and he's a professor at Oxford."

They all started at the sound of a backfiring engine.

An old, battered lorry leaped around the corner. Edmund, who was the automobile connoisseur, had difficultly placing the year and make. Susan was vaguely wondering if it had ever been a definite color. Peter speculated on how tires so bald managed to have any traction.

The lorry screeched to a halt, the breaks whining like tortured ghosts.

A man leaned out of the window, or wind hole, rather, for the glass had long since disappeared. Or perhaps, Edmund speculated, it never was.

"Hello!" the man said, he had dark hair, graying now and a ruddy face, very odd, but very memorable. "I'm Digory Kirke, You Edward's kids?"

"We are," Peter said stepping forward, "I'm Peter, sir."

"Are you?" Mr. Kirke's gaze settled on Peter. "I met you a long time ago. Remember?"

"I'm sorry, I don't," Peter said.

"Well, you were pretty little," Mr. Kirke said with a smile; he turned to Susan with an inquiring eyebrow.

"Susan, sir," Susan said smartly.

"I'm Lucy!" Lucy exclaimed, "I'm very glad to be here!"

"I'm delighted to hear that," Mr. Kirke said, smiling. He turned his gaze on Edmund.

"Edmund, sir," Edmund broke into a shy smile.

Mr. Kirke turned to look at Eustace, but Eustace was pretending to look the other way.

"Well, I suppose one of you doesn't belong to a name, very unfortunate, but…" he looked back at the rest of them, "Welcome anyway."

"We really are glad to be here," Susan said, "and we'd like to thank you for being so kind. Mother and father send their best."

"My pleasure!" Mr. Kirke said, "Most of you seem very delightful. There seem to be quite a lot of you; I suppose it didn't occur to me how many five really is. Ah well. All luggage and boys in the back, girls in the front."

"I'm not going to ride in the back!" Eustace exclaimed. "It's not safe!"

"You could run along behind," Edmund suggested, pitching a suitcase into the bed.

"I'll ride in the back!" Susan said quickly, then stepped closer to the Professor. "He hasn't been feeling well."

"He never feels well," Edmund muttered, but no one heard him.

"Well then, he can be a gentleman for once," Mr. Kirke said decisively. "Hop in the front, my dear."

~o*o~

It's a beautiful place, the Lakes district. There is a magical, mysterious quality about it, there at the edge of Scotland not far from where Hadrian's Wall snakes over the hills. The people consider themselves highlanders, but the real highlanders, those hard-bitten, hot-blooded people of the utter north only scoff at them.

The travelers in the lorry commanded the finest view; they could see the breathtaking green and gold of the hills without anything in the way. I won't say the journey wasn't hazardous, for the lorry had an uncanny knack of behaving like a wild thing, bucking and rearing like a stallion. But it gave Peter, a free, daredevilish sort of feeling and Edmund couldn't help laughing as he hung on for dear life.

Eustace was silent and they thought he was brooding, but he really wasn't. Eustace had one secret that he had never told anyone, not even his mother, who was his closest confidant. He wanted to be a naturalist.

Susan thought him a little bully with a horrid fixation on dead things and the insides of dead things. Whenever the Pevensies had gone to visit their Aunt and Uncle in Oxford, his room had smelled of formaldehyde and rubbing alcohol. There were dead butterflies and insects pinned to cards on the walls and swollen bull frogs and crawfish floating in large jars, waiting to be dissected. He was smart; they had to admit that when they looked at his chemical set and watched as he blew things up.

He liked to hear Lucy scream, but more than that, he loved nature. He felt out of place everywhere except when he was outside with a magnifying glass, looking at the clear green cells in a birch leaf, or hiding behind a rock to photograph a deer with his Zeiss Ikon. No one knew about that side of him and he never told. He didn't trust his cousins and they didn't trust him.

"It's a big place," Mr. Kirke said over the roar of the engine. "A very large place. Don't get lost in."

Susan nodded, staring out the window at the sweeping countryside.

"Do you have any children?" Lucy wanted to know.

"No, unfortunately," Mr. Kirke replied, "I'm an old bachelor, didn't you know?"

"Oh…I'm sorry," Lucy said, not quite sure what to say. That was the proper thing to say to someone who'd lost a child, not someone who'd lost a child that never existed.

After about fifteen minutes, they arrived.

The land had changed; tall oaks grew at regular intervals- obviously planted- then they took a left on a private drive, marked by two granite pillars and as they rounded a curve they saw the house as the trees slowly fell away like curtains on some grand stage production.

The house.

It was large, antique and of reddish stone going in all directions. The windows covered it, flashing light; there were many chimneys, the roof was old slate and the house looked quite venerable, like a gentleman smoking a pipe in an easy chair with his spectacles on the end of his nose. The lawns stretched on both sides, level green meeting a row of trees that surrounded the house. They saw the gardener in shapeless overalls, pushing a reel mower, the blades sparking light; he stopped to wave as they went past.

The lorry roared up to the front door, bucked around in a circle and came to a squealing halt.

"Well," Professor Kirke said as the engine stalled with a whine. "Here we are."

~o*o~

The entrance hall took their breath away as they took in the wood paneling, the massive staircase, the oriental carpets that stretched across the marble. A mounted tiger snarled at them, Zulu war shields hung on the wall, fashioned of black and white cow hide stretched over a wooden frame.

A stiff woman stood waiting for them, flashing them a stiff smile as they put down their trunks in a pile on the floor.

"This is Mrs. Macready, my house keeper," Professor Kirke explained. "She'll bring you up to your rooms. I'll see you at dinner."

He dismissed them then with a wave of his hand and disappeared down a long corridor. They watched him go, then turned back to Mrs. Macready.

"Come with me, then."

They followed her up the great staircase and saw a huge medieval tapestry hung on the landing, displaying lords and ladies energetically going hunting on massive chargers. She showed them into their rooms and at last, pushed open a door at the end of the corridor.

"This will be your sitting room," she said. "I hope you will be comfortable in it."

They took stock of the piano in the corner and the suit of armor standing guard over a potted palm tree. There was a marble fireplace and books… one wall was covered with them, they saw the King James Bible, the Encyclopedia Britannia, a translation of Beowulf…there was a large wardrobe in the corner.

"I'm sure we will, ma'am, thank you," Peter said.

"Well, I'll be leaving you then," she said. "I'm sure you'll want to freshen up before dinner. It will be served at half past six. A maid will call you."

"Thank you," Susan said as the house keeper left, closing the door after her.

"I think we're here," Edmund commented.

The others rolled their eyes.

"Look at the wardrobe." Lucy said.

It was in the corner; a tall, dark wardrobe, gleaming and beautiful. In the grain of the wood were beautiful and intricate carvings, strangely lifelike and fantastical all at once. There was a tall graceful apple tree with a strange sort of bird in the topmost branches and at the base of the tree, looking up at the crown was a boy in knickerbockers. The knob of the wardrobe had a lion's head engraved on it.

"It reminds me of father's work," Peter said quietly, reaching out to trace the line of a tree branch.

"Apple wood, I'd say." Edmund commented.

"You think so?" Peter asked, glancing at him.

"Mmmm."

"Let's get ready for dinner," Susan interrupted. She knew they'd start talking about woodworking for hours if she only let them.

"Yes, mother," Peter said meekly.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

This story is more or less a condensation of the first stories we posted on this site the year before last. They were, unimaginatively enough, _The Wardrobe_, _The Witch_ and _The Lion_. I wrote the majority of them when I was twelve and thirteen and as I grew older, I was gradually more disgusted with the work of my former self. We meant to deliver a message, but lost it in a web of unnecessary trails.

I resolved, therefore, to rework my original plan. I have deleted more than two thirds of the story and rewritten large tracts. I hope that in simplifying it, we will deliver, more directly what we originally intended.

We offer thanks to our old reviewers, mostly anonymous, who put up with my rough writing and long-sufferingly offered support and suggestions. This is for you.

~Rose and Psyche

**Disclaimer:**

_The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe_ is under _entirely new management._ Rose and Psyche have found it necessary to _fire several of the old employees _and replace them _with new ones, _the Beavers were caught chewing on chair legs, but have been allowed to return _with a caution. _Who ever wrote the plot _has been sacked. _So far we are getting on swimmingly.

**Next Up:**

Chapter Two, in which Susan comforts Peter, Eustace is indignant and Lucy asks Edmund to tell her a story.


	2. The Reality of Fantasy

The Reality of Fantasy

* * *

_Reason is the natural order of truth; but imagination is the organ of meaning._

~ C. S. Lewis

* * *

Lucy turned and screamed as the steady pound of horse's hooves filled her ears. Shadows rippled over the black coat of the horse as the knight reined him around for another pass. The leaves turned up in sodden clumps under the flinty hooves and mud flew through the air.

"Peter!" she shrieked.

Peter stood tall in the path of the horseman, his head thrown back, his eyes challenging. Suddenly he slipped sideways, ducking under the flashing arc of the sword blade as it swept down. With both hands he grabbed the knight's armored foot and heaved up, pitching him onto the forest floor.

"Peter you're wonderful!"Lucy laughed running to him. Peter grinned and swung her in the air; the knight, the sword, the horse, all forgotten and melting back from where they had come in their imaginations.

"Do it again! Do it again! _Please?_" Lucy begged, but Peter only shook his head.

"Want a piggy back ride?"

Lucy was galloping at a breakneck speed through the woods, her hands buried in the flying mane of a great stallion when they spotted Edmund scientifically cutting a branch off a tree.

They had now been at the Professor's house for a week and the time had sped by, all golden sunshine and laughter as they romped in the woods and rowed in the lake in their private galleon. And sometimes, when the weather was very fine and the Professor had very little else to do, they were able to do some horseback riding on the hunters that lived in the stables behind the house. They had a great deal of fun, all except Eustace who said he didn't want to (but really did), and bitterly regretted not learning how to sit on a horse afterwards because the only person he made miserable was himself.

War had been declared as they knew it must. Germany and Russia had at last invaded Poland, and England and France had done with shelling out ultimatums. Troops had been mobilized and they had sometimes seen airplanes flying overhead and Peter dreamed of the day when he, too, would be flying in the great blue.

"What are you up to, Ed?" Peter asked, rearing and prancing around, much to Lucy's delight.

Edmund turned a sarcastic eye on his antics for a moment, then laughed. "Something more sensible than you are. I'm going to make a sling shot. Anybody seen Eustace around?"

"I haven't seen him since this morning. He's bug collecting if I remember correctly."

Lucy shivered.

Edmund sliced the last thread of wood holding the branch to the tree and inspected it carefully. He glanced up at Lucy.

"What have _you_ been doing?"

"An evil knight was about to carry me off, but Peter defeated him."

"Did he, now?" Edmund grinned and Peter had an urge to pull his brother's cap down over his face.

"Remember, we're supposed to be doing holiday tasks," Peter reminded him.

"You look very studious," Edmund said slyly.

They were back at the house for lunch, smelling of dirt and the outdoors, but happy and very hungry. After they ate, Peter and Susan sat down on the sofa to compose a letter to their parents and Edmund started to whittle his slingshot, careful to catch the shavings in a cardboard box. Eustace had turned up and was systematically pinning insects to a card and labeling them carefully.

_Lucanus cervus… Calliphora vomitoria… Vanessa Cynthia…_

Lucy wandered around the room, inspecting everybody's work. She felt board and every now and then her eyes wondered over to the wardrobe sitting quietly in the corner. She stopped in front of Peter and looked up into his face assessingly.

"Do most wardrobes have magical worlds in them?" she asked at last, her hands clasped on his knee.

Peter looked up, laughter in his eyes, "do you know of any that do?"

"This one does," Lucy said quietly. "It snows inside."

"They don't normally snow inside," Peter said absently, rereading what he had just written. "How is your paper cut?"

"Much better."

She wondered away and stopped next to Edmund, watching with her mouth slightly open, as his clasp knife slid so effortlessly through the pale wood. He paused and looked at her thoughtfully, "want to try?"

She did and presently she was sitting on his lap, his hands around hers as she tried to whittle. It was much harder than she thought and at last she told him that he might have more fun doing it than she did.

"Tell me a story," she said, her eyelashes drooping to brush her cheeks.

"What about?" Edmund asked logically.

"Narnia."

"Who's that?"

"It's not somebody… though it is." Lucy's voice was dreamy. "It's somewhere."

"Over the rainbow?"Edmund asked with a laugh.

"I don't think it's over the rainbow," Lucy sat up, slightly puzzled. "Though it might be. Mr. Tumnus said it was between the lamppost and the eastern sea. Do you suppose that's near a rainbow?"

"Who's Mr. Tumnus?" Edmund asked.

"He's a faun," Lucy said. "He's a man with goat legs. Animals aren't afraid to talk there. They don't talk here because they're afraid we'll tell on them. But they're not afraid there."

Edmund met Peter's gaze over Lucy's head and rolled his eyes expressively. Peter laughed silently.

"They are afraid of the Witch, though," Lucy said quietly.

"Are there goblins too?" Edmund asked. "Like in _The Princess and the Goblins_, they had to wear granite shoes because their feet were so soft."

"I haven't seen any," Lucy said at last. "But you can come yourself and see if you do. It's very cold there."

"She's obviously quite barmy… Alberta always says little children are more dangerous than adults, because they actually _believe _things." Eustace said from the other end of the room. He had been listening for some time and at last he could take it no longer. "Anyway," he continued. "Aren't you going to tell her that that's all rot? She's too old to be spouting things like that! I have a headache and I'm sick of it."

"Shut up, Eustace!" Edmund asked sharply.

"I believe in magical lands in wardrobes, where fauns sit by stoves and serve tea and cake to unsuspecting little girls." Eustace added in a singsong.

"It's all true!" Lucy added, sitting up rigidly. "And that didn't rhyme, either."

"There aren't any such things as goblins or witches or magical lands," Eustace jabbed a beetled particularly fiercely. "Don't be a little bounder."

"Eustace-" Edmund began menacingly.

"I don't suppose you believe in Father Christmas either," Lucy interrupted, her voice softening.

"No I don't!" Eustace exclaimed. "What rot!"

But he had once. He had believe with all his heart, on Christmas eve he had tried to stay up long enough to see Father Christmas and his reindeer alight on the housetop next door. They never came to his house.

Once, he'd been to Uncle Edward Pevensie's house on Christmas and he'd seen the tree all aglow and eaten the Christmas cookies and sang Christmas carols with the best of them. Wonderful gifts in shining paper were passed around and Eustace knew that Father Christmas must be real.

_He just doesn't know about me,_ he'd thought.

He'd written a letter; 'Dear Father Christmas, I don't know why you never come. But we do want you very much. Please come this year, I'll put out shortbread and milk if you do. Most sincerely Eustace Scrubb.'

But his mother had found it under his pillow and when she was done with him he never believed in anything… again.

"I feel sorry for you," Lucy said.

It was as if she knew what he was thinking.

~o*o~

"I had tea with Mr. Tumnus again today," Lucy announced later that week when they were all eating breakfast. "I met Eustace coming back. We've both been there now."

There was a moment of silence around the table. Susan hardly heard, she was looking over yesterday's paper, looking for war news and price of stocks and advertisements for new dresses, but Peter did and was trying not to laugh.

Edmund's eyes narrowed and somehow he didn't feel like laughing. He knew by her clear blue eyes that she was deadly serious. His gaze met Peter's and his brother's smile vanished. They both looked inquiringly at Eustace.

Eustace wasn't eating; he let his spoon fall back into his cornflakes as he glanced up and caught their gaze. There was a strangely guilty expression on his face as he stood up to leave the room.

"It's not true," he muttered. "She's lying."

Peter stiffened, "That's a pretty strong accusation, Eustace."

"I tell you, she's lying!" Eustace snapped.

"Apologize, Eustace," Edmund said standing up, "or I'll jolly well make you! Nobody's going to call my sister a liar!"

"Sit down, Edmund," Susan said quietly.

"Can't a chap do what he likes without being interrogated?!" Eustace exclaimed, his face suddenly going quite red.

"I wasn't-" Peter began.

"Alberta was right! You are bullies!" Eustace cried. "I'm a real saint putting up with you day in and day out, being threatened and maltreated. You're beasts, all of you! I am capable of making my own friends, believe it or not."

"I choose not to believe it," Edmund muttered.

Eustace stared, then, with a flourish he meant to be impressive, he turned and stormed out of the room.

"Eustace doesn't look like he feels very well, today," Peter commented.

"He never feels well," Susan reminded him, handing over the newspaper.

"What shall we do today, then?" Peter asked, changing the subject.

"The gardener promised he'd give me some pointers on growing roses today," Susan said.

"I'll come down with you," Peter said.

"I'm going to stay here." Lucy said coolly.

They all looked at her, surprise on their faces. She never turned down a chance to go outdoors.

~o*o~

"Don't you think there's something a little strange about Lucy?"Peter asked at last.

The gardens seemed to go on forever as they rambled down graveled walks and under green arches. They half expected the flowers to be withering and dying now that summer was drawing to an end, but all around them was the perfume of flowers and bright happy faces peaked up at them from under leaves.

"What's strange?" Susan asked, glancing up at him. "She's seven and in a dream world. She's no different from the way you were ten years ago. Remember what you were like?"

"Yes, but… I don't know… did I actually believe in what I was saying? I think I always knew what was real and what wasn't. The line between fantasy and reality seems to be blurring for her until she can't see the difference. It's almost frightening."

A peacock's feathers glistened in the sunlight and it hissed at them when they came near. There was a little stone house in the garden and statues of ancient and forgotten people, bronze stained by rain water and above them, the endless dome of the sky arched overhead like blue glass.

"She'll get older and it will all end," Susan said. "She'll miss it. I know she will."

"It seems to be upsetting Eustace." Peter said quietly.

"Eustace is an enigma," Susan said with a laugh. "Oh look! There's the gardener!"

~o*o~

Edmund stumbled, took a few more steps and stumbled again, going up to his elbows in snow. He shook his head, trying to clear it and looked past glittering humps of snow to silent trees standing at the edge of the clearing.

Footsteps wound in a long lonely path across the snow; to his smarting eyes, they looked like blue smudges, blurring into white. He tripped again and fell, plunging down into the snow, gasping as it melted against his neck and trickled down his chest.

When he looked up again, he saw something as blindingly white as the snow standing a few paces from him, looking over its shoulder. Its eyes were as blue as cave ice, like shards of blue glass, in a burning white face.

It was a white wolf; a massive one.

It looked Edmund over, from head to foot, then, as if he weren't worth the time of day, it loped away easily, muscles rippling under the heavy coat.

Edmund let out a slow, whistling breath of relief and struggled to his feet again. The foot prints lead on and he followed them until he reached a door that seemed to be set in the side of a massive boulder.

Cautiously he reached up and knocked.

Edmund heard a quick tapping sound coming to the door, he heard the scrape of a bar being lifted; the door creaked open and a worried, pointed face peeked out with two curling horns sticking out of curly black hair.

Edmund choked and swayed slightly, his eyes widening as he took in the naked torso and the wooly legs, ending with tiny, cloven hooves.

"Hello," Edmund, said, swallowing hard, "have you seen…" he trailed off, then started again. "Have you seen a little girl with golden hair and blue eyes, about so tall?"

The faun stared unashamedly for a moment, then started and grabbed his arm, dragging him though the door and slamming it shut. The room Edmund found himself in was a large one, comfortably furnished with deep chairs. There was a fire playing over the grate and a half eaten cake stood on a little side table.

Lucy sat in one of the deep chairs.

"You must leave at once!" the faun gasped. "Never, never come back! Come, you must go at once!"

"Edmund!" Lucy looked up, "Hullo! Is it time for lunch, then? This is Mr. Tumnus."

"I think Mr. Tumnus is right," Edmund said, slowly. "We must leave at once. There are wild animals on the loose."

Mr. Tumnus went very white, "what kind?"

"I saw a white wolf," Edmund said.

Mr. Tumnus sat down hard, "That was Shard, he's brother to Fenris who is the captain of the Secret Police."

"The captain of the what?" Edmund asked.

"The Secret Police," Mr. Tumnus said. "They are _her_ spies."

"Who's _she_?"Edmund asked. "Wait, don't tell me. We're leaving. Come _on _Lucy!"

"Well," Lucy said, "I suppose we should go now."

"Yes," Edmund said, "I suppose we should! Come on!"

"Good bye, Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy called over her shoulder as Edmund pulled her out the door.

~o*o~

They stayed all day in the garden, watching the gardener work. Susan was enthralled, her eyes shining and Peter stayed and watched to keep her company, though his mind kept wandering back to the others, wondering what they were doing.

"Look here," Peter said at last. "Are we going to go back for lunch? I'm starving."

"You're always starving!" Susan laughed.

But they went back.

The upstairs sitting room was strangely silent when they returned and the lunch of mutton chops and potatoes that had been brought didn't taste any better when it was cold.

"Hey you others!" Peter called, sticking his head in various rooms, "time for lunch!"

"That's funny," Susan said. "I wonder where they are?"

"Exploring the house, probably." Peter said, throwing himself down in a chair. "Let's eat."

"They ought to eat too," Susan argued. "Where are they?...and why is the wardrobe door open?"

The wardrobe had two doors on the front, one had swung open. Peter stalked across the room to close it and hesitated as he looked inside.

"What's in here? Old vacuum cleaners and dusters? How magical!"

There were goulashes piled up further back and a few oilskins and as Peter pushed back the sleeve of one of them, he was startled to see Edmund's blue eyes staring out at him.

Peter stepped back. They were both in there, Edmund and Lucy, hands clasped until their knuckles were quite white.

"What's this? Hide and seek?" Peter asked with a good- natured laugh.

Wordlessly Edmund stepped out of the wardrobe, leading Lucy after him. "Where's Eustace?"

"Haven't the faintest, why?"

"Lucy! Your hands are freezing!" Susan exclaimed.

"It's cold in there," Lucy said simply.

"Perhaps we should ask if we can start a fire in the grate." Susan said, chaffing Lucy's hands. "Edmund! Your lips are blue!"

"We've just got back from Lucy's world," Edmund said suddenly, his face was very serious and for a moment, they failed to comprehend what he had said.

"What?" Peter said at last.

"You know," Edmund said. "The place she called Narnia. I saw the faun."

"Edmund…" Peter trailed off. "Aren't you taking this a little far?"

"It's true Peter," Edmund said, his voice cracked and for a moment he said nothing as he tried to get a hold of himself again.

"Yes, all right," Peter said a little sharply. "I think you'd better drop it now."

"Gladly," Edmund said.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I don't know about you, but I had imaginary friends when I was little and nobody thought it strange when I rattled on about the hundred flying horses in the garage. Lucy's siblings would have been pretty poor sports not letting her have her imagination and really believing it was real. I know I did.

~Psyche

**Production Notes:** Edmund was put on probation for too much snark, unfortunately Peter sprang him out of the brig and both have gone missing. Next chapter pending.

**Poll:** It's still on our profile.


	3. The Windmills of Your Mind

The Windmills of Your Mind

* * *

_Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. _

~ Arthur Conan Doyle

* * *

They didn't see Eustace until they were halfway done with lunch and they all looked up when the door creaked open. He was standing on the threshold, looking at them oddly. His face was strangely haggard and there were rings under his eyes.

"Come eat," Peter said. "We saved some for you."

"No," Eustace said, strangely laconic, not even bothering to bring up the fact that he was a vegetarian and they were obviously eating a sheep.

"Are you all right, Eustace?" Susan asked curiously, strangely troubled by his lack of communication. "You look like you have a fever."

"I can't get warm," he said at last. They all stopped eating and stared at him.

"Go outside and get some sun," Peter said.

"No," he turned and disappeared from the doorway.

"Lazy bones," Peter muttered.

"Aren't his eyes green?" Susan asked suddenly.

"About as green as I've ever seen." Peter said, taking another helping of mutton.

"They were blue just now," Susan said.

"Eyes like that can turn all different colors depending on the light."

Edmund stared at them and in his mind's eye he saw the deep, intense gaze of the wolf searing into his soul. Eustace's eyes had been the same; slightly wild and totally strange.

"I think he needs help," Edmund said.

"He might be sick," Susan suggested.

"He's been awfully disagreeable since he came out of the wardrobe," Lucy added, toying with her napkin ring.

"He's always disagreeable," Edmund replied.

"What do you mean 'came out of the wardrobe'?" Peter asked, turning suddenly to Lucy.

"He's been there too, I told you that." Lucy reminded him. "He wouldn't talk to me about it afterwards, though."

Peter reached out and put his hand on Lucy's forehead.

"I'm not the one who's sick!" Lucy giggled, brushing it away.

"Are there any illnesses going around?" Peter asked, glancing at Susan.

"I don't know," Susan said slowly, her eyes worried. "I think we should find Eustace and see what's wrong with him."

~o*o~

Eustace had drawn all the curtains, then dove into the bed and wrapped himself in the blankets, shivering uncontrollably. He could only see her eyes, those eyes that had pierced him through.

She had been mounted on a white horse, a white lady amid white snow with a silver knight on a white stallion riding next to her. They had appeared out of the icy haze the way frost slides over a window pane… intricate lace.

_It was the eyes, those blue, piercing, bone chilling eyes._

"You are beautiful," he whispered.

Susan was slightly taken aback as she sat next to him, gently shaking him.

"Eustace," she said softly.

The white lady slipped down from the horse, and reached out to touch his cheek; her hand was soft as down and stung like ice.

"Eustace!" Susan shook him again, harder this time.

_"Who are you?"_ she asked. _"Where have you come from? It's too cold here for you."_

"Too cold," Eustace repeated numbly.

"Peter," Susan said looking up, "we need to warm him up, he's freezing. Feel his hands."

"There are hot water bottles in the linen closet… good man, Edmund."

"I'm English," Eustace said.

They all stopped and stared at him, Edmund pausing in the doorway to look back. He glanced up at Peter and saw his brother's face harden.

"He's sick," Peter said stubbornly.

_"How many more of you are there?"_ the lady asked. The snow spiraled down like icy sparks, gathering in his hair, resting in the fur mantle she wore. The knight looked down at him wordlessly, his visor drawn, a steadying hand on his horse's snow white neck as it pawed restlessly in the cold, snorting mist.

"There are my four cousins and me," Eustace was speaking again with effort.

"Hush," Susan said. "We're all here."

"And the professor and the housekeeper and some maids… the gardener... a groom. Nobody else."

_"You must bring them all to see me,"_ the lady said. _"Sometime."_

"How will I find you again?" Eustace asked, staring up into her pale, lovely face.

_"If you look for me, you will find me,"_ she said, brushing snow out of his hair. He saw something glint in her fingers, something sparkling, and hard like a shard of ice.

"Eustace!" Peter roared, "For Heavens' sake! Wake up!"

Something warm was next to him, warm hands held his, a warm touch was on his forehead and slowly the white gave way to the dimness of the room.

"What happened, Eustace?" Susan's worried face came into focus over his own.

"She drove it into my heart," he whispered though chattering teeth. "She said it would make me wise and strong."

"What did she drive into your heart?" Edmund asked.

"The shard," Eustace shifted and tried to sit up, but firm hands held him down. "I must go back to her and you must come with me or she will be angry."

"He's having a hallucination." Peter said with finality.

"I knew something was wrong when I saw him again," Lucy was saying, she looked up at Edmund, her blue eyes full of worry. "He must have seen _her_. Mr. Tumnus told me about her. It is _she_ who has made it always winter there with never any summer. He must have seen her. He said that she bewitches those that see her."

Peter turned and stared at Lucy, then glanced at Susan. Her face was white as paper.

"He's very ill," she said quietly.

"We'll have to call a doctor," Peter said with finality.

"A doctor won't help," Edmund said. "Not this."

Peter stared at him for a moment, his glance unreadable.

"You've got to believe us now, Pete." Edmund said, turning to look up at him pleadingly. "There's a magical world in the wardrobe."

"I think we need to get them all to bed and call a doctor," Peter said, looking over Edmund's head at Susan.

"We're not sick!" Lucy said with a little stamp of her foot. "I don't believe Eustace is either."

There was a dead silence.

"I think we all ought to go see the Professor," Lucy said suddenly.

Edmund looked up at her sharply, "You think?"

"Yes," Lucy said. "I can see it in his eyes. He's been there too."

"All right," Peter said. "Let's go see the professor, all of us. Maybe he can knock some sense into your heads. You jolly well need it."

~o*o~

The four of them went down the long passage to the door of the professor's study. They'd seen it on one of their explorations and had speculated on what was behind it.

"Perhaps it's like Bluebeard's closet," Lucy had suggested, her eyes sparkling.

"Oh, no," Susan said. "What an awful thought. It's probably all full of papers and books."

There were only papers and books and more books as they filed in and were asked to sit down where the tall windows at one end of the room cast warm rectangles of light.

"Edmund _doesn't_ lie," Peter whispered to Susan just before they went through the door and she could only stare at him, wondering what he meant.

"Good afternoon," Mr. Kirke said, looking up at them over his spectacles. He seemed to be in a particularly serious mood and they sat for a full minute before they said anything. Peter and Susan looked at each other, not knowing where to begin and in the end Edmund was the one who told the story.

"We know you've been there too," Edmund finished.

The professor was silent as he looked at them one by one, studying their faces. Peter's, worried, Susan's, nearly distraught and Edmund's and Lucy's, both curious and afraid.

"You're right, I have been," he said at last, taking off his spectacles and folding them neatly on his desk.

Peter's jaw dropped and he stared at him incredulously. "But sir!"

He left it at that, any number of other things that swarmed into his head wouldn't have been respectful, but he had the uncanny feeling that the professor knew exactly what he was thinking, nonetheless.

"You have three choices," the professor said, leaning back in his chair. "You think that they are sick, mad or lying."

"Not…lying," Peter said. "They don't lie, that much I can say for them. Eustace might, but they don't."

"A doctor could come into the room now and inspect all three of us and he would dismiss us as disgustingly healthy. Your cousin, perhaps, is not doing so well at the moment, but we, as you see, are perfectly sound. You think that our minds are not, but what are the signs of madness? I have been to mental wards before and I can verify that we are not showing signs of instability."

Peter was silent.

"What do we do about Eustace?" Edmund asked.

"I agree that a doctor would do him no good," the professor said, looking at them closely. "In fact, I have no idea what to do about him. I have a feeling that helping him is more in your hands than mine."

"How do you mean?"

"Return to the wardrobe."

There was another long silence and they stared at each other. The professor's face had a queer expression of sadness and happiness as he returned their gaze and at last, he put on his spectacles and bent over his work again, his fountain pen scratching gently on the paper.

"I'm sorry I can't help you," he said, looking up in the middle of a word. "I really would like to, but I don't think it's what he'd want me to do."

"Can we call the police?" Susan asked at last, desperately.

"What good would they do you?" the professor asked, glancing up again. "Go read the story of _The_ _Unicorn in the Garden_."

"The what?"

"_The Unicorn in the Garden_." The professor replied. "I wish I could help you more."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I know _The Unicorn in the Garden_ wasn't published until 1940, but go read it anyway. It's worth it.

~Psyche

**Production Notes:** Yesterday, we had a terrible mishap when canon characters from _The Lord of The Rings_ accidentally spilled onto the set during writing. Some chaos ensued. Fortunately, Peter thinks he has it sorted.

**Poll: **We have a new one and would very much like to know _your_ opinion. Cor won the last by a landslide.


	4. Through the Wardrobe Door

Through the Wardrobe Door

* * *

_Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see._

~ C. S. Lewis

* * *

Peter had felt worried before, now he felt thoroughly unsettled as they walked back down the passageway and up the short set of stairs that lead to their own rooms. As he walked, the only reason he could formulate was that an illness was going around that led to hallucinations. They didn't seem ill, but they must be.

There was no doubt.

And yet he did doubt.

"Eustace is gone," Edmund said calmly, interrupting his thoughts. Peter glanced up.

"What do you mean?"

"He's gone. He's not in his room."

"He must be wandering about," Peter said. "We'll have to find him."

"Yes, we will," Edmund said. "He's gone back through the wardrobe."

"What!"

"The door was open. Peter you've got to help me. You and I have got to go look for him. I'm afraid he'll get himself killed, or worse."

"I'm coming, too!" Lucy said sharply.

They all stood, eyeing the wardrobe warily. Golden light spilled down from the windows across the room and pooled in the carvings, glowing in the grain with smooth, rich color. For a moment, as they watched, mesmerized by the detail, they could almost see the tree's branches shivering in a silent wind.

"It is such a lovely thing," Susan said softly. She stepped forward to touch the polished wood, then jumped with a little gasp.

"What?" Peter asked.

"It shocked me!"

"Wood can't shock people."

Edmund caught Lucy's eyes.

"Let's decide this once and for all," Peter said abruptly. He reached out and turned one of the knobs and as the door swung open softly, a breath of wind touched their faces like a cold hand.

"It's a perfectly ordinary wardrobe," Peter said, stepping into it, "I'll prove it to you."

He thrashed through some moth eaten blazers; his outstretched fingers reaching for a hard wooden back he knew would meet them. But the wardrobe kept going into darkness and he tripped over an old boot and fell face down, his arms going deep in something cold and strangely wet.

"Ough, sorry."

Someone fell on top of him, heavily, and he struggled to sit up, brushing a damp strand of Susan's black hair out of his face. He looked up, blinking; there was soft yellow light filtering on them and he was on his knees in snow. It had to be snow…or a great deal of something else that had been at the back of the wardrobe had spilled…

"Great Scot!" Peter exclaimed and said nothing more for some time.

They were sitting in snow, staring up at the trees and a pale sky. Snowflakes were spiraling gently down to rest on the branches of trees standing dark and silent all around them. The sun was shining watery through clouds, its rays too diluted to touch them.

"Is that… a lamppost?" Susan was appalled.

The lamp stood in the middle of the clearing in front of them. It was tall, gas fueled, wrought iron, old by the look of it, like something that had stood in London in the 1860's; the type that still hadn't been removed around Saint James Park. As they looked up at it, a robin that had been perched on the crossbar flirting its tail, suddenly took flight in a shower of snow that sparkled in the air.

"Can you forgive me for not believing you?" Peter said at last, picking himself up from the snow.

"Of course!" Lucy cried, throwing her arms around his waist."All that matters is that you're here now!"

"Where's Edmund?" Susan asked sharply. Peter glanced around.

The woods were silent, menacing, as he circled and it seemed to him that the trees themselves were leering down at him as he looked up.

_We've got you and we're not going to let you go._

"He went back to get our winter coats," Lucy said. "It gets pretty cold here… oh, here he is!"

Edmund had come back, stepping down into the snow to hand out their coats, the hats and scarves they'd brought from London and most importantly of all, their gloves.

"I think I found everything," Edmund said.

"I think you did," Peter said, then reached out to shake his hand firmly. "Forgive me for what I said? I'm afraid I said some things that were a bit beastly, considering the situation."

"How can I blame you?" Edmund asked. "Honestly, Pete, sometimes I wonder what you're thinking."

"So do I," Peter said with a wry grin.

"We can't stay here," Susan was saying. "We must just find Eustace and go."

"Where do you suppose he would have gone?" Peter asked, turning slowly, staring up at the snow falling gently on his upturned face.

"Not up there, anyhow," Edmund said with a grin.

"Mr. Tumnus might know," Lucy suggested.

"I think," Peter said, glancing at Susan, "That you and Lucy ought to go back and wait for us. Edmund and I will go look for Eustace and be back as soon as possible. He can't have gone far."

"Lucy could go back," Susan said hesitantly. "I don't trust you not to get into trouble."

There was a moment more of silence, a soft, velvet like silence, snow muffled and white and in that silence; they heard a sound that chilled them to the bones. It was long and low, a little like a steam whistle, but uneven as an air raid siren.

"What was that?" Lucy asked, her voice rising a little as they turned, searching the dark woods for the thing that had made that… sound.

"I think we should all go back at once," Susan said suddenly.

"We must find Eustace," Peter said, took a few steps towards the lamppost, then turned back. "Edmund?"

"We'll go find Mr. Tumnus," Lucy said. "He'll know what to do."

"Lucy and Edmund should go back," Susan said firmly.

"We can't, we simply can't!" Edmund cried desperately.

~o*o~

In the end, Lucy plunged bravely through the snow, like a galleon at the head of her fleet. It was snowing more heavily now, snowflakes whirling soundlessly through the crystal air. As Lucy looked up at the driving flakes, she could almost imagine that the four of them were walking through a snow globe, held in a great someone's hand.

In that silence that was all around them, they heard the soft hush of the trees, like a sigh over the land. It was as if the place was alive, but trapped, trapped in a prison of ice and begging to be let free.

"See," Lucy said, and suddenly had the undivided attention of everyone, "Over there is where I first saw Mr. Tumnus."

They continued on after Lucy as she entered the wood. It was a very old forest; they could see its age in the great gnarled branches of the oak trees and the towering tops of the spruces. The young hardwoods stood frozen, crazy like, their snow frosted limbs twisting and branching like white coral.

"He brought me back to his house and we had tea and he told me all about Narnia. Isn't it beautiful?"

The others were silent; somehow they couldn't share her enthusiasm. Now that he had returned, Edmund's only thought was of the white wolf that had looked through him as he lay helpless on a snowdrift. He shivered. _What do wolves sound like? _He asked himself quietly and in his mind, echoed once again that strangely haunting sound they had heard.

"We must just find him and leave," Susan said softly to herself.

Edmund recognized the trees now; he had seen that low tangled one and the towering stand of birches. Lucy sped up a little; she had been this way several times before. How often had she come to this great lonely place where wolves haunted the wood?

Soon they reached a little clearing and Lucy led them down to where a great boulder stood. She knocked at the door, her hand falling to the ornate door latch, wrought in the shape of a bird.

At first there was silence at the other side of the door.

"Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy called. "It's me, Lucy! And I've brought the others! They want to meet you!"

The door burst open and the others took a step back as a small person with goat legs stood staring, his face paling like the snow at the sight of them.

"What are you doing here?" he gasped.

"We're trying to find-"

"It doesn't matter," he said shortly and his eyes darted towards the silent woods like frightened birds. "You must leave at once. Go straight back to your own place."

"But-" Lucy gasped. "We just came!"

The faun glanced at them, his expression pleading, then knelt down to take her hands, "Lucy, they're coming for me, right now, at this moment. They'll be here very soon."

"Who is coming for you?" Edmund gasped.

The faun looked up at them again, his face mirroring the dark shadows of the tree trunks and the tarnished, boiling fear in the sky. The wood was haunted; they could hear the long cries even now as they listened, mingling and falling like a tuneless, lonely song.

"The Secret Police."

They were silent, spine-shivering in the cold as they all looked instinctively over their shoulders at the gilt sky just gleaming through the trees and the driving snow.

"The Secret Police?" Peter asked, turning back. "Have we accidently landed in Germany?"

"It wouldn't be wintertime in Germany, yet," Susan reminded him softly.

"The Secret Police are her wolves," Mr. Tumnus said, then turned Lucy about and propelled her off his doorstep into the snow. "You must go now. There is no time to lose. The snow will cover your scent. Hurry!"

Wordlessly, Peter reached out to take Lucy's hand and turned away, looking back towards the woods. Susan hesitated, her breath coming in fearful gasps as he looked back at the faun.

"What about you?" she asked. "We can't leave you behind!"

"Nothing can be done about me, go!"

"But Mr. Tumnus!" Lucy cried.

"He's right," Peter said, dragging her away. "We've got to go now! Come on, Susan!"

Edmund and Susan at last came after them and Lucy looked back once as the door of Mr. Tumnus' cave closed, slicing away the warm golden light of the fire that burned on his hearth. Very soon, the hearth would be cold.

"Let's try to run in each other's tracks!" Edmund said. "Then it will look like there are less of us."

"All right," Peter said. "But run!"

"We can't go back!" Lucy cried, as she stumbled after Peter. "They're going to steal Mr. Tumnus! He'll be all stony and cold!"

"Why do you keep saying that they'll turn him to stone?" Edmund exclaimed. "People can't just turn people to stone."

"These ones can… _she_ can…" Lucy's eyes were wide.

"Just hurry!" Susan cried.

They ran, but they kept stumbling and falling as the snow clung to them like deep water and pulled them down into a soft, numbing embrace, running cold fingers against their skin. The snow was falling more heavily now, blotting out the trees and settling in their tracks, whirling through the iron light that slanted like sword blades through the trees.

Just out of the corner of their eyes, they saw a flickering moving, a flitting flash that danced across the sky, skipping from tree branch to tree branch just behind them as they ran. Susan looked, trying to see it straight on just once. Then it landed on another branch and she saw its bright little eye as it turned to look at her. It was a robin.

"Stop! Stop!" Lucy screamed as she fell again, the snow bighting her face and going up the sleeves of her coat like frozen knives. Peter stopped, turning to pick her up and in the silence after their gallop, they all froze.

"Listen," Edmund said quietly.

They heard it then, the wild, haunting shriek of wolves spiraling with the snow through the great trees that stood all around them. They stood alone in the middle of the wood, listening, almost seeing gray shadows flitting through the gathering darkness, laughing at them like mad men.

"Come on," Peter said, turning.

~o*o~

Hope glimmered through the dark trunks as they ran. It was the lamppost, shimmering in the afternoon darkness, lighting the flashing snow that whirled around it like a cape of glittering diamonds.

"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!" Susan's had started to chant as they rushed on, struggling with the snow that sought to hold them back and smother them.

As they reached the clearing, Peter stopped, glancing back to make sure Susan and Edmund were behind him. He looked through the trees, drawn to turn just once to see it all again. He could just see hills, misted with the driving snow and touched with gold by the gray marbled clouds on the low horizon. There was something about that place that fascinated him… and frightened him.

At last, he turned and followed the others, half surprised that they were standing around looking at him.

"Go on through, I'm right behind you."

"Peter, look," Susan said softly, her eyes wide.

The wardrobe stood where they had left it, calm and still.

But there was a back on it.

Peter was frozen like the icicles that hung, flashing, from the cross bars of the lamppost, listening to the distant wail of the wolves that swept soft footed through the trees. He could almost imagine them circling around them, their iron coats rippling as they walked, watching from the shadows with yellow eyes. Slowly, he put Lucy down in the snow and walked over to wardrobe. He thumped it with knotted fists, but the wood was as yielding as iron.

"How about the other side?" Peter exclaimed. He and Edmund fought their way through the branches of the trees, stumbling in the snow. The doors of the wardrobe were closed and locked; the carvings seeming to be mock at them. Peter pounded on it with his fists, smearing blood on the wood, but hardly feeling the pain.

"Beast!" he exclaimed. "Beast!"

"Stop it, Peter!" Edmund exclaimed and seizing his brother's hand, dragged him around to the front of the wardrobe.

"Maybe we can get something to smash it," Peter cried.

"I have a feeling that won't work," Susan said hesitantly. "It's magic… I don't think you can smash magic to get it to work."

"How do you know?" he asked, turning to her almost savagely.

"Don't be a dolt, Peter," Edmund said sharply.

"Right, I won't." Peter said uncertainly, "we could…we could…"

"We'll have to hide," Susan said, reaching out to take Lucy's hand and turning to look at the dark wood. "Right now."

"Anyone got matches?" Edmund asked, glancing at Peter. "We'll need them if we're stuck here."

"Oh," Peter said, feeling in his pockets, "I have."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Read _The Sentinel _by Avia Tantella Scott, here on fanfiction. It's short, but very well worth looking at.

~Psyche

**Production Notes:** Action figures now available in fourteen and eighteen inch models. Eustace figures are back ordered, but we will try to have them back in stock as soon as possible. Warning! The tips of Jadis' wand and Peter's sword are sharp.


	5. The Lord of Fire

The Lord of Fire

* * *

_Advice is like snow; the softer it falls, the longer it dwells upon, and the deeper it sinks into, the mind. _

~ Samuel Taylor Coleridge

* * *

He fell, stumbling into the soft embrace of the snow, then struggled, floundering, to keep on; it was like plunging through water, only it was finer than sand and cold as ice. It seemed that trees were trying to grab him, to hold him back and unspoken words hovered in the air.

_Don't go._

He saw white sky…white snow…white hands, groping in front of him. His vision was blurred and in his mind's eye, he saw the lady's eyes, so soft…so gentle.

Yet still there rang those silent worlds through the deep and mighty wood.

_Turn back._

He fell one last time and could not rise, his eyes were closing and the snow molded to him, soft…cold…beautiful.

"What is it?"

The voice was rough and loud and something turned him over roughly. He saw grey fur and yellow eyes staring into his. The feathered paws of wolves, their coats gray as stone, shifted all around him like a dancing forest.

"Stop clawing at me," Eustace said, a last shimmering of his old self showing through. "Or I'll have you brought up on charges."

"It's the man cub," another voice replied. "She said we were to bring it to her."

* * *

The wood was deep and tangled and they struggled through it, searching desperately for a particularly dark thicket where they could conceal themselves and stop to think. The lower branches of the spruce trees were swept down and locked in the snow and soon they found a particularly large one and scrambled under the branches, trying to disturb the snow as little as possible.

They crouched in the hollow next to the trunk, smelling the sharp aroma of pine sap as Lucy systematically popped the little blisters on the smooth bark. There was very little snow under the branches, but it was piled deep on top of them and it was very dark in there. They huddled together, warming each other in the darkness. Time slid by like the sun that was slowly drifting away, drawing the light after it the way a fishing boat draws a net through dark water.

"Do you suppose they're following us?" Lucy whispered at last, a little shakily.

The others were silent; they didn't know what to say.

"We're going to have to find friends," Edmund said.

"Somehow," Susan added.

"Do you suppose…maybe…it will all go away at sundown?" Lucy asked, "Like in _Five Children and It_, everything went away at sundown and they could go home."

"I don't think so," Edmund said. "That wasn't real, anyway and I'm pretty sure this is."

"What if it isn't?" Lucy asked quietly, then stifled a sob.

"Look here, Lucy," Peter said at last. "Are you crying? We're all right for now, I think."

"I'm not crying about that!" Lucy wailed.

"What then?" Susan asked curiously.

"I left Baloo behind at the Professor's house!"

She couldn't see their expressions in the darkness, but she saw the flash of Edmund's smile. "It's her bear she's talking about." He said quietly.

"Oh," Susan said, then reached out, groping for Lucy's hand. "I'll make you another if I have a chance, Lucy. Then you can have Baloo again."

"But it just won't be the same," Lucy sighed, sunk in misery.

They were silent.

"Ahem!"

They all jerked, struggling to see.

Peter had folded himself so tightly to fit under the branches he could barely move, but as he turned to look, he saw a whiskery brown head of an animal with orange front teeth poking in a gap in the branches. On his head was a fat little robin that twittered nervously, dancing from one foot to the other.

"What is it?" Edmund asked.

"I think it's a beaver," Susan said quietly. "Remember? There were some that lived on the pond behind Uncle Robert's house when he was still in Scotland. He used to tell about them in his letters."

"I don't think they're aggressive." Peter said softly.

The beaver elongated itself and slipped through the hole, staring at them with wise, bright eyes. It sat up abruptly and the little robin in the red waistcoat did a jig of excitement on its head.

"I came straight away," the Beaver said at last. "But it took some time to come through the woods. The wolves have gone back to _her. _So we'll be all right for a bit. They didn't pick up your scent after all."

Jaws dropped all around.

"I told you they talk here," Lucy said calmly as the others stared, aghast. "They're not afraid."

"Don't know about that," the Beaver said. "There's plenty to fear in these woods. Now, look sharp, you're to come with me; it's been decided."

"Who decided that?" Susan asked, slightly worried. In her mind's eye, she saw Eustace huddled in the blankets of his bed. "Have you anything to do…with…"

"With _her_?" the Beaver asked quietly. "I can assure you that I do not. I'm the first link in the chain and I'll do my best to keep you safe."

Edmund leaned closer, "Mr. Beaver, sir…We are new to this land…very new. We're looking for our cousin; do you know…have you seen him?"

"We can't talk here," the Beaver said and they saw a look of sorrow cross his face. "Many of those very dear to us have been taken. I will bring you to a place of safety and tell you all I can."

Peter looked at Edmund and Susan.

"There isn't much else we can do," Susan said.

"I think it's all right…" Edmund said.

"We'll come, then," Peter said, looking again to the Beaver. "Where will we be going?"

"To my house," the Beaver said. "It's warm there," he added, glancing Lucy as she shivered between Edmund and Susan. "Come."

As they scrambled out of the hole into the open, they saw that the snow had finally stopped and the sky was gilded with the rays of the sinking sun. The darkness was closing in around them as the Beaver raced along, keeping to the woods. The drifts were hopelessly deep and they soon grew tired as they plunged along, dragging themselves along as they passed under the lonely, snow swept branches of the trees.

Lucy was in the middle of the procession and Edmund and Peter had her hands, dragging her though the drifts. Suddenly she felt something flutter next to her cheek and she looked over to see the delicate feathers on the fat body of the Robin that had been on the Beaver's shoulder.

Lucy hardly dared to breathe for fear she would frighten it away.

"Hello!" It said, it had a queer, chirping voice that almost sounded like whistling, "I'm Chibb, who are you?"

"I'm Lucy," Lucy said, "I'm very pleased to meet you!"

After a few minutes of half walking, half running, the trees stopped quite suddenly and they found themselves looking down at a frozen river, the snow brushed away from its rolling gray ice. A dam spanned it at a narrow place and in the middle of the dam, all made of branches, was a little house with smoke pouring merrily out of the chimney. A small round window in the side cast a soft yellow glow unto the snow beneath it.

They started down the hill, trying to keep their balance as their feet skidded over the ice that lay beneath them. At last Peter stumbled and fell, pulling Lucy and Edmund with him down the hill, plowing through the snow like whales.

"Stop playing!" Susan called after them. "You'll get cold!"

"I wasn't exactly playing," Peter muttered, picking himself up at the bottom of the slope, then digging around for Lucy to pull her to the surface. Edmund wiped snow out of his face and grinned.

"It's melting down my front," he commented.

The Beaver caught up with them, dropping with all fours as he scampered out onto the dam towards the little house. The others followed, their feet skidding on the sheer ice.

"Be careful," Susan said. "Don't slip."

"Pity we forgot the ice skates," Edmund grumbled.

The next moment, Susan had lost her balance and was skidding towards the edge. Peter spun around, nearly losing his own balance as he caught her hand just in time to keep her from falling onto the frozen river.

"Stop playing," he said with a grin, shaking his finger under her nose.

"Are you coming, then?" the Beaver asked as he opened a small round door in the house. They watched as he dove through it, then they followed themselves, sliding in feet first to fit.

It was beautifully warm in there and they all stood blinking in the sudden light, stamping snow off their numbed feet and dusting it off their woolen coats until they stood in a melting puddle. It was a small round home with only one room and a round table in the center of it. There were bunks on each wall and behind one set of bunks, next to the open hearth, was a nice warm corner with a little spinning wheel in it. Sitting at the spinning wheel was a She-Beaver, busily spinning.

"Here we are Mrs. Beaver!" Mr. Beaver called and the spinning wheel stopped with a thump.

~o*o~

"How much do you know?" Mr. Beaver asked at last as he lit his pipe.

No time had been wasted putting dinner on the little round table in the middle of the room. The Beavers were a good deal larger than ordinary English ones, but only Lucy really fit at the table; the others squeezed themselves under it uncomfortably, their knees coming up painfully high. Peter was the worst off, he had gotten a growth spurt the year before and he fairly towered in the little room, his head constantly hitting the rafters and interfering with the hurricane lantern that hung from a peg.

Mr. Beaver had popped outside to catch some fish ("I didn't know beavers even ate fish," Lucy had confided to Edmund) and they had laid the table, putting on a loaf warm from the oven along with pewter mugs of ale ("It tastes disgusting," Lucy whispered).

"We're looking for our cousin," Peter said.

"And he's been sighted," Mr. Beaver said, his voice serous. "He was rounded up by the Secret Police, no doubt to be taken to _her_. We know no more than that."

"Who is _she _exactly, anyway?" Peter asked.

"You really don't know anything, do you?" Mr. Beaver said, taking a deep puff from his pipe and expertly blowing a smoke ring (later, Edmund found out that beavers are exceptionally good at smoke rings). "Let me start from the beginning and I'd appreciate it if you would shut up until I'm done."

Peter opened his mouth and closed it again.

"Up at the mouth of the Great River stands a magnificent castle; no one has seen inside those dear walls for a hundred years, yet we know a rare magic resides there. In the throne room sit four thrones; they were built just before the Tree of Protection fell and the White Witch invaded our land, locking it in ice.

"Your coming has been prophesied for more than a hundred years. We have known the time and place of your coming for nearly fifty and as the years passed and our hairs whitened we knew we would live to see you as Stormrunner prophesied in the early days."

He held up his paw as Peter attempted to speak again.

"_When Adam's Flesh and Adam's bone sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done. _This was the first prophecy; the next was more beautiful than the last: _Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight, at the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more, when he bares his teeth, winter meets its death and when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again._"

"We know from this that your coming and his must coincide. Now that you are here, he must be on his way. We have not heard of his movements for many years, so the best thing we can do for you is bring you somewhere safe until he chooses to act. We can't rush him, you know… all right, young master, speak your peace."

Peter stared at the Beaver for a full second before he could form his thoughts into words and when he had, he couldn't make them sound right. In the end, he asked what they all wanted to know since the name was first mentioned.

"Who is Aslan?"

Mr. Beaver almost smiled. "He is the son of the Emperor-over-the-Sea, the King of our land. Jadis is nothing to him, she is a usurper from another world, and is a curse to us as a rose is cursed with thorns."

In the silence that followed they could hear the soft keening hum of the wind in the eves and the sizzle of melting snow on the fire and the logs that cracked and popped. There was the warm, sharp smell of wood smoke in the air and dried herbs and the quick sound of nervous breathing.

Chibb had fluttered down on the table and was pecking at his own private dinner of nuts, fluttering a little as he hopped about, his bright eye like onyx as he looked them all over.

"I think we're not the people you are looking for," Peter said at last, almost hating to break the silence. "We're just kids from Chelsea who were evacuated because they think there might be air raids. There's nothing special about us."

"That is exactly why you _are _special," Mr. Beaver said, leaning forward. "Many have come into this land with armies and have attempted to take the thrones, all have fallen and years have passed. Now you have come, all four of you, without the faintest idea why. You are the ones…but I must say, I wasn't expecting you all to be so young."

"Exactly! Don't you think this Aslan chap might have made a mistake?" Susan asked.

"He doesn't make mistakes," Mr. Beaver said calmly. "I've learned in my long career that there is no second guessing him or asking 'why'. Everything he does works exactly as he says it will."

"Mr. Beaver," Peter began again. "I'm not willing to risk my life for a country I've never been in before for a cause I don't know about. We didn't _want_ this to happen."

"But it did, it's too late to go back now. You're risking your life all ready, whether you know it or not."

A long silence passed and stared at each other, their faces half lit by the lantern, half bathed in blue light coming from the frost feathered window set deep in the wall. Susan looked through the snowy glass at the pale snowflakes that spiraled down from the darkening sky.

"Mr. Beaver," Peter said at last. "We are in an uncomfortable position. Our cousin has been taken prisoner and the door that we came through is closed. We don't know anything about you except what you've told us…"

"You're afraid you might be trusting the wrong people?" Mr. Beaver asked, tipping his chair back on two legs.

"What if we are?"

"You can only find out," Mr. Beaver said, and his chair thumped resoundingly, seeming to them almost like a knell of doom.

"What are you planning on doing with us, then?" Peter asked, taking a deep breath.

"Come," Mr. Beaver said, standing up, "Ready yourselves to leave. We must keep moving. We have one more stop to make tonight."

In a daze, they found themselves on their feet, bundling into their coats. Mr. Beaver was still talking.

"We're going to bring you to Archenland, the country to our southern border. King Lune is privy to our plans and long has been in our support. We have been preparing what to do with you when you arrive for many years now and our plans have been polished to a fine edge."

Mrs. Beaver was hastily putting provisions in sacks, Chibb flew all around the room, twittering madly and the rest stood in the middle of the room in a half daze. Mr. Beaver turned towards the door, looking back at them, his voice serious as he spoke:

"We must move you along as quickly as possible, never letting you stay with one creature for too long; both your lives and ours were in danger from the moment you set foot in this land. Jadis will stop at nothing to kill you, she knows the prophecies as well as we do and our spies inform us that your cousin told her all about you when he met her in the wood. We could do nothing for him, but we can at least help you."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I remember when I was very much smaller than I am now, we had a tree behind our house that lost its top in an ice storm. The lower branches were very wide and when it snowed, they would be pinned down. There was just enough space for the two of us to fit under it. We called it our snow fort and pretended that we were in Narnia, hiding from the Witch. The snowplow that went by the house every couple of hours was on her side.

-Psyche

**Production Note:** The Once and Future King is in danger of going over budget. The locations are only accessible by flying horse and since the recent warm spell, the snow is melting before schedule. Eustace thinks he's hit upon a formula for synthesizing snow.


	6. The Snow Queen

The Snow Queen

* * *

_In the midst of its empty, endless hall of snow was a frozen lake, broken on its surface into a thousand forms; each piece resembled another, from being in itself perfect as a work of art, and in the centre of this lake sat the Snow Queen, when she was at home._

~ Hans Christen Anderson

* * *

When Eustace opened his eyes again he was staring up at the sky and the towering spires of a castle. It was sunset and with the settling darkness came a cold so intense that he could no longer feel his hands; it was as if the blood was frozen in his veins. It was as if the very marrow of his bones had frozen.

Painfully he blinked and stared dully up at the creature standing over him. It was a lion, he recognized that, its eyes were sad and colorless and it looked as cold as he did, buried under a blanket of snow. He reached out to touch its foreleg, but his numbed fingers couldn't feel it.

"It's frozen, stone."

Eustace looked up sharply, rolling over on his side so he could see the speaker.

It was a white wolf laying a few feet from him, its blue eyes fixing him in place. The wind touched its heavy white coat, running cold fingers through it gently.

"That's what she does to those that trust her," the wolf continued.

"You're lying," Eustace said, his numbed lips fumbling around the words.

"Lying, am I?"

"Shut up," Eustace moaned, "My head hurts. You could have had the decency of bringing me inside, and where's your collar? You ought to be restricted. Aren't there any leash laws around here? I could have you brought up on charges for cruelty to humans."

The wolf's eyebrow went up. "That's our specialty, young pup."

"The White Lady will be angry with you," Eustace snapped, then cooked up the worst insult he could muster, "Nazi."

"Oh, she'll be angry," the white wolf agreed. "But not with me."

Eustace looked the other way.

He saw now that he was lying in a great, white courtyard, the stone walls intricately built with beautiful designs. In warmer times, this wall would have encompassed a garden; now only the statues remained. Beyond a frozen fountain a statue of a magnificent centaur reared in the air, both hands clasping a great claymore, readying to bring it crashing down. A stone unicorn looked over its shoulder; a stone dog crouched on the ground; a stone stag stood proud and tall, antlers seeming to hold up the sky.

"They were all alive once," the white wolf commented, watching his gaze.

"You're ly-"

"Save it for later," the white wolf said, quietly, then in a different tone said, "You are Eustace, you are their kin, are you not?"

Eustace did not reply, but looked up to see another wolf trotting down some steps from the castle.

"You can bring him in now, Shard, sir," he said, with a bow.

"Come," the wolf said, flowing to his feet, his white coat blue in the settling dusk.

"I can't," Eustace stuttered. "I can't get up."

* * *

They squirmed through the tiny door again, the cold biting them the way a wolf bites and not letting go. It had been growing cooler in England and they were all glad of the warm sweaters they had put on earlier in the day, but it still wasn't enough to stop the cold.

"Good bye and Aslan's blessings on you," Mrs. Beaver whispered as she shut the door after them. "I hope to see you all again. Mr. Beaver, you be back soon!"

Above them the sky rippled through a silent symphony of dancing light; gradually going from pale to dark and brilliant. As the last throbbing glow of red faded in the western sky they could see the stars hovering above them, tiny sparks of light against the deep blue of the twilight. It seemed both strange and somehow wonderful that there were stars here too, just as there were in England.

The trees stood all around them, stooped figures, bent under white cloaks; perfectly still and silent like statues, some bowing until their hair brushed the ground. There was something terribly eerie about them as they stood there so silent and cold, as if they had stood for a thousand years and expected to stand for a thousand more.

Mr. Beaver led them to the end of the dam, then up a little slope. The next moment they were among the trees on a narrow path that no one would have noticed unless they were on it. It sloped downwards until they were walking down a little gorge.

"Not as much snow down here," Mr. Beaver said, "Much easier going."

The trees leaned over them, dark shadows against the deepness of the sky, Susan could see Chibb above them, a tiny shadow flicking past the branches of the trees; at last, much to her delight, he fluttered down to land on her shoulder, his tiny wings gentle and soft on her cheek.

She asked him about himself, her low, gentle voice putting him completely at ease. He told her, though it pained him, how his parents had been messengers between Archenland and Narnia and had been killed by the Witch's vultures.

"Birds can get back and forth a lot better than animals can," Chibb explained.

"Why didn't they stay in Archenland where they were safe?" Susan asked.

Chibb danced a little dance of horror on her shoulder, "this is our country! We can't desert her!"

"Was it worth dying for?" Susan asked_._

"Worth dying for?" Chibb asked, so shocked he couldn't go on.

In her mind's eye, Susan saw a vivid and horrible image of an England under German control; an England where they drove on the right side of the road and the street signs were in German, an England where they bought things with marks instead of shillings, an England where they could not be free.

"Yes, I suppose it is," Susan said at last.

Lucy reached up to take her hand, trying to see her face in the dark.

"I'm so tired."

"I'm sure we're almost there," Susan whispered back.

But Lucy's eyes kept drooping even as she walked and she was close to tears when Mr. Beaver ducked into a thick bunch of bushes and disappeared. Peter hesitated, then squirmed after, his long legs making a comical sight as they vanished down the hole.

"After you," Edmund said, turning to Lucy. She swallowed, then slipped down after them, Susan behind her. Edmund was last, looking once over his shoulder before he ducked and wriggled inside.

The whole was dreadfully crowded as they all struggled to sit down, for the ceiling was far too low for them to stand. Lucy was nearly sat on by Peter, and Edmund howled because Susan stepped on his hand. Finally, they were all sitting with their backs against the wall and their feet, a jumble in the middle.

"Where are we?" Peter whispered at last, done with trying to fold himself to fit better in the tiny hole.

"Our first stop," Mr. Beaver said, scrambling over their legs. "There's a door here somewhere."

In the darkness, there was a violent thumping, "Oakheart, for goodness sake, open up!"

There was a scraping noise and low muttered voices.

"It's Beaver! Open up, we're cold out here!" Mr. Beaver glanced over his shoulder at them, the moonlight reflected in his eyes. "I always told him he should heat his entry hall."

There was more scraping and a crack of yellow light fell across their jumbled legs. A small face with large tufted ears and big luminous eyes looked at them curiously. It was, in fact, a very large red squirrel.

"It's started, my friend, it's started!" Mr. Beaver exclaimed, pushing through the door. "They're here at last!"

Oakheart's eyes widened even further and he threw the door open all the way, his arms outstretched in a gesture that was unarguable. "Come in! _Come _in!"

Edmund was closest the door and he crawled through on hands and knees; he was just able to stand up on the other side, his hair brushing the ceiling. Lucy came next, then Susan and at last Peter, dragging himself through very slowly.

"Well, that wasn't very graceful," he said with a laugh, his head bent sideways against the ceiling. "We are honored to meet you, Mr. Oakheart."

"Please, _please_, feel free to call me just Oakheart," Oakheart said with a laugh. "It's my cousin Twang who has all the titles."

"Twang? Is he here?" Mr. Beaver asked, brightening.

"I am indeed."

An extremely elegant squirrel stepped forward and swept a graceful bow. His ear tufts were stylishly curled and he wore a green cloak. A dirk was in his belt, but Edmund (who knew a little about these things) could tell by the large ring on his right paw that his main weapon was the bow.

"Milord," Mr. Beaver said with a bow. "I am glad to see you."

"And I you," Twang said. He turned to the children and bowed again. "I am speechless. To meet you has been the fulfillment of my waking dreams; you are welcome nearly as much as Aslan himself. I dearly hope that we may learn to know each other better!"

_He obviously wasn't speechless_, Peter thought. "We are honored to meet you, as well."

"Are you just from Archenland, then?" Mr. Beaver asked.

"Yes, but in a private capacity. I came to spend Christmas with my good friend and cousin." Twang said. "I certainly did not expect to find such distinguished guests."

"You will be staying the night here," Mr. Beaver said, turning back to the children. "Then Oakheart will be taking you on tomorrow. We're hoping to get you through in three days, but that may not be possible. Aslan's blessings on your majesties! Great good has come to Narnia!"

"Are you leaving, then?" Peter asked.

"Aye, I must return to the missus," Mr. Beaver said with a laugh. "And Chibb must fly to Archenland to alert them of the goings-on here. I will see you again; when you return, I'll see you again."

"You must stay the night," Oakheart said. "It's not safe to be out at this hour."

"I'll be fine, I know these woods." Mr. Beaver said, touching his forehead. "Happy Christmas to you all!"

"The first feast!" Twang exclaimed. "A Blyth Yule, to you sir."

"Unfortunately without the feast," Edmund commented.

Then Mr. Beaver was gone, closing the door firmly behind himself. His last glance was at Peter and there was a promise in his eyes.

* * *

He was stumbling along in a half daze when Shard directed him into a long hall filled with blue light. Two snow leopards stood, their eyes half closed at the arching, ornamental door and as he stepped into the hall, Eustace stared about himself.

It was all blue-white, marble and glass, glittering with diamonds. The vaulted ceiling arched above him, wrought of silver and feathers of ice. There were trees of silver with leaves of sparkling stones and butterflies flashed about, but their wings were set with diamonds; locked in a cold prison.

Beyond the silver trunks of trees, a dark shape seemed to shift and shimmer just out of Eustace's vision, and as he stared at it, he saw a strange, shambling creature crouched against the wall. Eustace had not heard much of the folklore of the countryside, but even he had heard of werewolves.

There were animals in there; crocodiles, every scale seeming solid gold; leopards moving shadow-like, their hides set with diamonds; a peacock raising its tail of glittering gems, setting the walls alight with color as the sunlight splashed down. Eustace wasn't sure if they were even alive; they seemed automatons, moving in a dance to a strange tune, like the one that shimmered with the sunlight from the gold music box that was open in her hand.

She sat on a dais, her dress of silver and diamonds seeming to burn with a light of their own. He looked up to meet her beautiful eyes, gleaming like gems in her pale face; but her eyes were as lifeless as the beautiful creatures that moved dutifully through the great hall.

At last they stood before her. There was a look of beautiful gentleness about her, like a snowflake that falls on a blade of frozen grass.

"Kneel," Shard whispered.

Eustace dropped to his knees and stared up into her eyes. Now that he was there, at her feet, there was nothing left in his mind to do or say. He had done it.

"My dear boy," she leaned forward and touched his cold cheek, there were beautifully wrought rings on her slender fingers and a bracelet of silver, fashioned perfectly, set with butterflies. "I feel so sorry for you. You didn't bring them; I thought I had made it quite clear that you were to bring them."

"They wouldn't come," Eustace could no longer form the words. He only thought them.

Something lay on her lap. It was long and covered with fine threads of frost, all silver and blue and green. It seemed a scepter of some sort, or a wand. Swift clicking on the icy floor came next to Eustace and he looked out of the corner of his eye to see a huge black wolf, its blue eyes burning.

"Majesty," the wolf swept a bow.

"What is it, Fenris?"

"The trees have reported that the four that you seek are in Narnia, they have been seen near the Great River."

"Do you know where they are now?"

"Nay, madam."

"Take Shard and Canis and all your best wolves and find them. Bring them to me, dead or alive; I want them all, do you understand?"

"Yes, your majesty," Fenris bowed again and slipped away.

"Eustace," she turned back to him and looked at him gently, a look of sadness in her eyes. "This is farewell. You have done all that I asked you."

"What?" Eustace whispered and he caught the gaze of Shard, the white wolf, still standing beside him. There was a hopeless look in his blue eyes.

Smoothly, she lifted the wand.

Pain crept up Eustace's legs, followed by a deep numbness. He looked down at his hands where they rested on the marble steps that lead up to the dais and saw that they were the same color as the stone, white and threaded with veins of black.

The stone crept up, slowly and relentlessly; he couldn't move his neck, his eyelids were frozen…

"Wait! You can't do this!" Eustace screamed, "Haven't you heard of the Geneva Conven-?!"

His cry died on his stone lips.

"Your England is very far away, now, Son of Adam," she said quietly.

* * *

**Author's Note:** For once I haven't got anything to say...except, I watched Jaws last night and now, whenever I think of wolves, I hear the Shark's theme beating in my head. Anyone else skip the Superbowl and just watch the commercials? On to the production note! (That's why you read the chapter in the first place for, anyway.)

Oh, but there's one more thing. Please _don't _read 'The Wardrobe', or I'll be in danger of deleting it entirely. :(

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Lucy is threatening to sue because her gifts have not yet been sent down from the props department. It's rumored that there's been a mix-up.


	7. A Blyth Yule

A Blyth Yule

* * *

_I am not alone at all, I thought. I was never alone at all. And that, of course, is the message of Christmas. We are never alone. Not when the night is darkest, the wind coldest, the world seemingly most indifferent. For this is still the time God chooses. _

~ Taylor Caldwell

* * *

They didn't sleep terribly well that night.

Lucy fell asleep at once, but the others stayed awake, staring into the low embers of the fire. The squirrels had brewed them each a cup of spicy tea; the smell of cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg filling the air, with a dash of wild honey. It warmed them all the way through, so beautifully.

"The Witch, Jadis, allows trading ships from Calormen, so spices aren't hard to come by, but the honey is brought in on the black market from Archenland." Oakheart had explained.

"You are from Archenland, then?" Peter asked, turning to Twang where he sat by the fire, thoughtfully twirling his whiskers.

"Yes, Archenland," Twang said. "But I am a true Narnian. In Archenland we are a people without land, an identity without a body. The kings of Archenland have been very kind to us, they have allowed us to live with the Archenlanders and, to a certain extent, rule ourselves. We hope that we will not have to trespass on our host's hospitality for too long."

After wishing them a good night, the squirrels had retired to their own chambers and left them alone in the room. It was, in a squirrel's estimation, a very large room, but the table and chairs had to be piled at one end to make enough space for them. There still wasn't floor enough for Peter to stretch out, so he reconciled himself to sleeping upright.

Susan felt his pain and half wished that he wasn't so tall.

"Peter?"

She said it very quietly; when Lucy's steady breathing told her that she was asleep.

"Yes?" Peter said.

"Do you think we're all going to die?"

There was a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Peter said at last and his voice, already deep as their father's, sounded as young as a little boy's.

"Can we trust them?"

"Yes," Edmund broke in. "I'm quite certain we can."

"You're still awake?" Susan asked.

"Yes, of course I am," Edmund said tersely. "Such comfortable beds we're in."

"Is Lucy awake?" Susan asked.

"No," Peter said, he could feel her head on his shoulder, "She fell asleep awhile ago."

"I thought so."

Peter shifted slightly.

"Ow!" Edmund said.

"What's wrong?" Susan asked.

"Peter kicked me," Edmund said. "He's got a jolly powerful kick."

"I was thinking," Susan said quietly. "What if Aslan is just as bad, or worse, than the Witch?"

"I was thinking the same thing," Edmund said. "Nasty thought."

"I don't think so," Peter said. "I have this feeling about him, it's so odd…somehow, I don't think he's like that."

"Really?" Susan said after a moment. "I rather do too; I really want to believe in him."

"We're going to have to, no matter what," Edmund said, his voice low, the firelight rippling across his face. "If we want to keep our sanity. You wouldn't believe how mixed up I feel inside. I feel like I've just stepped through the looking glass."

The darkness was heavy and smothering. Only a little light glowed red in the embers, but it made the darkness darker.

"Well," Peter said after a moment, "We should probably get some sleep while we can."

Silent breathing answered him, yet beyond the silence he could hear another sound, a sound that sent shivers down his spine. It was the wild, ethereal song of baying wolves.

_They're after us, then,_ he thought to himself and grimly put himself to sleep.

* * *

Chibb flew for most of that night.

If he had been a hawk, he would have been there much faster, but he was only a little bird with little wings ad he was doing the best he could. It was near midnight when he approached the silver painted mountains that stood between him and Archenland.

Suddenly a huge black shadow fell across him, blocking out the moon, and he looked up to see the stark forms of two of the Witch's vultures circling above him. He banked away as they dove, piping shrilly as he closed his wings and plummeted down towards the earth. A claw racked him, but he was moving too fast and as he spiraled down his feathers fluttered after him like snow.

The vultures banked again, peeling away from each other to come around, their paths sweeping across each other as Chibb shot away again. They were now very near the snow covered trees, but there was nowhere to hide in that cold, stark place.

Chibb twisted in the air, but as he turned, he saw their red blazing eyes diving towards him.

"You're not getting out of this one, Chibb old boy," he thought as he swooped sideways again. A great shadow met the other two and suddenly, talons closed over his fat little body.

* * *

Peter, wedged in his uncomfortable position by the wall, was the first to wake. Someone had stirred the embers of the fire and put another log on and flames were licking up towards the flue, flooding the room with warmth and light.

As Peter's eyes lost the blurriness of sleep, he saw a deep shadow by the hearth and as he looked; he saw that it was a man with a great white beard tumbling over his chest. He wore brocade and fur and the cloth glowed in the firelight; threads of silver and gold running through it in intricate and shifting designs. As Peter struggled into a more comfortable position, he saw scenes of hunts and battles, dances and parades shimmering and leaping over the strange mantle the man wore.

"So you've finally decided to wake up, have you?" the man's voice filled the room as he leaned over to grip Peter's hand warmly. "I'm honored to meet you. Someday, when you are older and you've grown to fit your height your reputation will pass out of this world into others. But that is another story; Merry Christmas!"

Peter stared at him, blinking. "Are you… Father Christmas?"

Beside him, Edmund suddenly jerked, sitting up, groggily trying to shake the sleep out of his eyes, "Wha-?"

"Aye, I am indeed!" The man said with a laugh.

"I'd have thought you were the sort of person Jadis wouldn't like," Peter said.

"Nay, she makes no difference to me, I serve a greater master."Father Christmas laughed. "I've come a long ways with very special gifts for you all."

"Father Christmas!"

The squeal came from between Peter and Edmund and they glanced down as Lucy leapt to her feet and shot into the brocaded arms of the old man.

"I knew you were real!" She said staring up at him with reverent eyes. "I always believed you were!"

He set her down on his knee, "Of course I'm real! There is nothing more beautiful or wonderful than Christmas and what it means. In some places in the universe it is being forgotten or overlooked, but I see to it that it will never completely die out."

"What happened?" Susan was waking now and looking up blurrily at them all.

"This is Father Christmas," Edmund said with the air of one introducing the next-door neighbor.

"Oh, I'm very pleased to meet you," Susan didn't know what else to do, so she stood up and shook his hand.

"And I am honored to meet you, milady." Father Christmas said, his eyes twinkling as he looked at her. "But I haven't much time to stay; I must give you your gifts."

"Gifts?" Lucy said, her eyes were wide, "We get gifts?

"Yes little lady," Father Christmas said softly, running his hand gently along her curling hair, spun gold in the firelight. "These presents are from Aslan; you will probably never see anything like them again."

They saw now the huge burlap bag that sat propped against the wall. Something gleamed and flashed from the opened top and they all leaned a little closer as Father Christmas seized the bag and hauled it around to his feet. Lucy slipped off his lap and stood watching eagerly and the others watched her, Peter feeling a twang in his heart as he remembered all the times he stood just like that on Christmas morning when he was little, what seemed years and years ago.

"Now let me see," Father Christmas said burrowing into his sack, "I was quite certain I put it in here… yes, here we are."

"Now Lucy," Father Christmas continued, "here are your presents."

Lucy's face was glowing as he pulled out a bow that was nearly as tall as Lucy herself. It was made of dark springy wood and the grip was wrapped with leather. It was a beautiful thing; long, elegant, the wood lined with light and dark. Father Christmas handed her a dark leather quiver filled with arrows fletched with white feathers. The quiver was tooled with an intricate design of scrolling leaves, so beautifully done, they almost looked real.

With a quick motion, Father Christmas bent the bow and strung it, then placed it in Lucy's hands. Eagerly, she pulled on the string, then gave up, a shadow of worry flickering in her eyes.

"I can't draw it, it's too hard."

Father Christmas smiled, letting his hand rest once again on her head, "Someday you will; your arm will grow to match your heart. The bow and quiver were made by the dryads, the bow does not easily miss because it is perfectly balanced, but I would advise you to aim it. The stars themselves tested it and Ramandu struck an asteroid at five hundred yards.

"But for the present, I have something else for you."

Again, he reached into his sack and pulled out a horn, it was beautifully polished and bound in gold, "this horn was made by the stars, when you blow it help of some kind will come."

"Thank you!" Lucy gasped, but she couldn't hug him again because she had her arms full.

"It is my pleasure," Father Christmas said softly, the firelight playing over the lines in his face, all seeming like the great canyons and valleys on the face of a noble planet. "The horn is unadorned. We had hoped that when you are older and your hands are stronger you would carve your story into it."

"Thank you!" Lucy whispered. "Thank you ever so much."

But she had hoped… half hoped… that Father Christmas might have had Baloo hiding in his bag. _But, we can't have everything, _she reminded herself rather sternly as she sat down next to Edmund and he leaned down to look at her treasures.

"Susan!" Father Christmas said.

Susan glanced at Peter, then climbed to her feet, standing hesitantly in the middle of the floor.

"We were at first unsure of what to give you. Because of your gentle heart we thought the implements of war unsuited to you."

Father Christmas handed her a crystal bottle of red gold liquid, like honey. "The cordial in this bottle is made from the nectar of the fire flowers on the sun, if you or any of your companions is hurt, one drop of this will restore them. It does not have the power to bring someone back from the dead."

Susan took it, a strange lump forming in her throat; it seemed to glow of itself in the firelight, stars of radiance burning in the facets of the bottle as she turned it. Peter looked at her in worry as he saw one glittering tear flash on her cheek, but Edmund knew.

She had always dreamed of healing and now here it was, gleaming in her hand.

"You also may find yourself in danger before this journey is over. This little dagger is to protect yourself," Father Christmas handed her a small, slender dagger with an amethyst pommel stone, but she barely glanced at it.

"Use it well," he said softly, reaching out to squeeze her slender hand in his big one. Then he looked past her and caught Edmund's blue eyes, strangely bright in the shadows of the room.

"Come!" Father Christmas said solemnly.

"Yes sir," Edmund said smartly, scrambling to his feet.

Now Father Christmas drew a sword in a wonderfully tooled black sheath from his bag and laid it in Edmund's hands. Behind him, Edmund heard a faint gasp of admiration and he glanced down to see Peter looking at it with both envy and awe.

The sword was beautiful. Long flowing lines made up the hilt and tang and a blue star sapphire, deep as Edmund's eyes, glowed in the engraved and silver gilt pommel. The star seemed to leap from the stone as the firelight struck it.

"Like your sister's dagger this sword was made in Bism, in the very heart of the earth. There the swords are named according to the thoughts of the sword smith. This sword was named Evyn; 'Shadow' in the old speech."

"For me?" Edmund asked in a very small voice, with shaking hands, he drew the sword enough to see the bright, shinning blade, "Are you sure you haven't made a mistake?" he half glanced at Peter.

"I'm quite sure," Father Christmas laughed, "for you. One more thing."

Edmund looked up again as Father Christmas reached into his bag. Something was clasped his hand and slowly, he held it up, flashing, in the firelight.

"A ring?" Edmund asked, his voice incredulous.

Father Christmas dropped in his palm and Edmund looked at it, turning it in the light. It was made of heavy silver, twined with filigree work and set with burning chips of sapphire. He had seen something like it once before, in the British Museum. It was an archer's thumb ring.

"This is a ring of invisibility," Father Christmas said, but held up his hand when Edmund looked up quickly. "It will make you seen, yet unseen. With it, you will be able to travel in dangerous places and do things you never thought you could do before."

"Thank you sir!" Edmund gasped.

"Like your sword, it is only a tool," Father Christmas said, his voice warning. "Like your sword, you must be skilled before it will serve you. Do not put your faith in it."

Edmund sat down again and Father Christmas looked up.

"Peter," he said.

Peter sat up a little straighter.

Father Christmas pulled another sword from his bag. It was very like Edmund's, longer and heavier; a hand and a half broadsword as ancient as the stars. The hilt was bound in dark leather and the pommel stone was a blood ruby, with a gleam of fire at its heart. But the sword was plain, without any adornment but the ruby, and tarnished, not stunningly beautiful like Edmund's sword.

At last, Peter reached out take it, the leather bound hilt fitting to his hand as if it had been made for it. He drew the sword partway from the sheath, watching the light gleam and soak into the dark blade. It seemed to flow and Peter thought of a running brook in summer as he saw how steel had been welded to steel until a dizzying, shadowlike pattern rippled up the blade.

He could never have known then how his life would be changed; he could never have known as he looked into the hard-wrought blade that his manhood was marked from that moment. His heart had fallen when he had seen how plane it was compared to Edmund's, but If he could somehow have looked into the future he would have seen himself a warrior and a king, bowed down with the weight of responsibility, his life hanging by a thread as he fought under the noonday sun. The days would come when his only companion would be his sword and he would seek to grip it and raise it with blood soaked hands.

"It is Rhindon, 'Light' in the old speech," Father Christmas said as he watched him.

"Light?" Peter asked with half a laugh. "It's a black sword, sir. I see no light in it."

"And you will not see light in it for some time," Father Christmas said sternly. "Only when you are worthy, will you see its light. This sword is older than you know and was carried to war in many conquests. Do not dishonor this blade."

"Yes sir," Peter said quietly.

Once more, Father Christmas searched through his bag, then pulled a shield into the light, handing it to Peter. It was circular and in every orbit of silver, there seemed a new scene, alive with characters. Along the rim, there was the earth, the sky and the sea, scattered with gilded stars; further in a wide band showed two beautiful cities, one celebrating a wedding, the other besieged by an army. The last band depicted a shepherd, playing his harp as his sheep lay beside a running stream, fruit pickers in a vineyard and a great field of wheat at reaping time. In the very center, the shield boss was gilded and wrought in the shape of a lion's head.

"You are the rock on which the others rest; let this shield be your rampart."

"Thank you sir," Peter said.

"Now I must bid you farewell," Father Christmas said, reaching out to take their hands one by one. "I have other places to go and other people to visit, but through all the years and ages I shall cherish your memories."

The fire had burned very low and the gleam of red and gold that rippled on the ceiling was growing fainter and the shadow in the corner where Father Christmas had sat was only a shadow.

He had gone as mysteriously as he had come.

* * *

Chibb's wings were pinned by the talons and no matter how hard he fought, he was held in a grip of steel. He looked up and saw that he was held not by a vulture, but by a great golden eagle.

The eagle wheeled and attacked one of the vultures with its free claw and its beak. Black feathers fluttered into the air and the vultures screamed in pain. The vultures, were great, horrible thing and far larger than the eagle, yet as the eagle opened its beak to scream its battle cry they suddenly banked away and fled, trailing droplets of blood through the air.

The eagle turned towards Archenland and gained altitude, Chibb had never been so high in his life. The country spread out like a silver map and below him he saw the stretch of snowy fields, the meandering curve of the Great River, the shine of the sea and the jagged peaks of the mountains between Narnia and Archenland.

With strong steady wing beats, the eagle soared over the mountains and left Narnia behind and even at this altitude Chibb felt that the air was somehow warmer and the moon brighter.

Then the eagle dove and alighted in a tree. He uncurled his claw and set Chibb upright on a twig.

"Hello old chap!" the eagle said. "Sorry I had to hold onto you like that, but you were nearly a goner!"

"I'm going to king Lune…very urgent!" Chibb squeaked, then fainted clear away.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Maybe I went a bit overboard with this chapter... but after I ran across the thirteen treasures of Britain and the black sword, Dyrnwyn, that glowed with supernatural fire when it was drawn by a worthy man, and the Ring of Eluned the Fortunate, that made who ever wore it invisible, and thought about the bow of Artimis and the shield of Achilles and the drinking horn of Bran Galed that granted the thing the drinker most desired, I was...well, done for.

So, the first thing you're all going to do is say, "You switched Susan and Lucy's gifts!?" and the first thing I can say in reply is, "why not?" Queen Susan the Gentle never rode to war and Queen Lucy the Valiant never seemed to have her cordial, it was perpetually back at the castle with Susan, while Lucy was riding with the archers...need I go on?

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Writing was disrupted today and the crew got half a holiday when the Producer (mother) found out that Rose and Psyche (the directors) were posting this production online. After multiple lawsuits they have gotten permission to finish posting this one, but permission to post subsequent long productions when this is over is pending. So far they have gotten off with a caution.


	8. The Once and Future King

The Once and Future King

* * *

_Hic iacet Arthurus, rex quondam, rexque futurus_ — "Here lies Arthur, king once, and king to be".

~ Le Morte d'Arthur

* * *

The wolves had spread out across the countryside, hunting, their mouths open as they called to one another, streaking through the trees like spirits. The scent was cold as they plunged through the snow and it grew no stronger until they wondered if they had only imagined it.

Fenris, Shard and Canis ran shoulder to shoulder, fanning out like a vanguard, their heads up, tasting the wind that rushed down from the hills, sweeping the scents all before it. Shard's nose was the keenest of the three and for some time he had caught the human scent in the air, so faint he barely smelled it, but still discernibly there. Any moment he expected the others to open cry as they caught it too.

Shard glanced at Fenris, his black coat gleaming in the sunlight. "Brother, we should split up. I will continue south. I will travel faster on my own."

Fenris glanced at him; he knew his brother had the sharpest nose of them all. "Very well, do what you think best. Keep in contact."

"Aye sir." Shard leapt forward into a run.

He knew he was drawing nearer.

~o*o~

"He does that, people say they've seen him; I've even met people who say they've seen him. I only wish I had been there." Oakheart's disappointment was written on his face, but Twang seemed too distracted with Peter's new sword.

"May I see it?" he asked, his voice shaking with excitement.

Peter unsheathed the sword and held it hilt first towards the squirrel. He was quite certain that Twang could never lift it, but Twang seized this hilt and held it with both paws, his eyes widening as he saw the blade.

"This is not dwarfin work," he said, his voice hushed. "This was made in Bism."

"Yes, Father Christmas said so," Peter replied.

"Did he say how old it was?" Twang asked.

"No, just that it was old."

"Lad," Twang said, his voice quivering with emotion, "This blade is one of the ancient treasures of Narnia. Its age is unknown, but it bears an inscription. Do you see it?"

Peter looked closer at the blade beneath the haft and as he looked, he saw words engraved deep in simple letters, "it looks like it says, 'King once'."

Twang rotated the blade and Peter looked again, "'and King to be'."

"King once and king to be?" Edmund asked, "What does it mean?"

"No one knows the true age of this sword, but it has appeared many times through history; this sword was carried by King Frank the third when he killed the red dragon of the northern wilds and again by Olvin when he fought the two-headed giant, Pire and turned him to stone. It has been carried by many valiant knights, their names now lost to history. It is said that when the bearer is worthy, the sword shines with a light of its own.

"But," Twang continued. "Never, in the course of history, has it appeared to stay before. It has never been given to keep. Treasure it lad."

Twang, too full of emotion to say anymore, sat down and Oakheart spread out a map on the floor of the room and they poured over it for some time, listening as he explained their route.

"I'm telling you this because I may be hurt or even killed and you must be able to continue on your own."

"Are we such a liability?" Peter asked.

"I'm afraid so," the squirrel said, his eartufts twitching expressively. "Come, we must be away."

With that, he gathered his little sword and they each took a pack of provisions and started on their way.

The sky was very blue as they came out of the hole and looked around themselves at the silent trees and the glittering snow that stretched all around them. It was beautiful and still, the world muffled with a deathly cold. The dry, freezing air burned their lungs and stung their faces and eyes. They were warm, but plunging through snow tired them all, except Oakheart and Twang, who were light enough to scamper along on the surface. They were terribly apologetic.

They only looked back once, down the little hill to the magnificent, frozen course of the Great River. The wind was rushing low along the ice, blowing snow before it and for a fleeting second, the sun lit a massive rainbow, arcing through the frozen air. But Peter could only remember the heartbreaking wail of the wolves he had heard last night and the sun seemed to darken in his eyes.

"We could pretend that we're arctic explorers!" Lucy suddenly exclaimed, taking a deep, stabbing breath of air.

Edmund stopped next to her, looking back, a smile suddenly breaking across his face like light after a storm, "I say, yes! Just like in _Winter Holiday_! Remember? They explored Spitsbergen and rescued a polar bear."

"I don't think we have to pretend," Peter said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. He regretted his words almost at once as the smiles faded from Edmund and Lucy's faces. He'd forgotten again that Edmund was still a little boy; he had been acting so much older since they had come. "All right, we'll be one of Shackleton's expeditions to the South Pole. We're going south anyway."

"And Archenland is the Pole?" Lucy asked, looking up. "Who will be Shackleton?"

"Peter should be," Susan said, smiling quietly.

"Let Edmund," Peter said, he didn't think he'd be able to be Shackleton and himself at the same time.

They walked on, threading through the trees, pushing aside frozen branches, a glittering of falling snow dusting down on them as they walked, the crystals flashing in the sunlight. There was a cold hand wrapped around Peter's stomach and it seemed as he walked that shadows were rippling after them and eyes shone like half moons in the dimness that slanted behind every tree.

After about an hour the woods began to thin and the shadows lay in long purple stripes on the snow. As they reached the edge of the woods, they looked out over a great, undulating plane of white that raced down hills and up others, to meet another line of woods.

"These were famer's fields before," Oakheart said sadly, surveying the scene. "Narnia had the richest crops."

For some time Susan had taken up the rear of the procession, her hand on the handle of her dagger (though she doubted very much she would know what to do with it if anything happened) and at last she called to Peter.

"What's wrong?" he asked quickly, turning back.

"Something's following us; something big."

They all gathered around her, kneeling down as Susan pointed at the snow and the deep, wide print of a massive animal. The pads had spread out a bit, somewhat supporting the creature's tremendous weight and the print was bigger than Peter's hand outstretched.

"I wonder where it is now?" Peter said standing up, a new shiver running up his spine. "It's some sort of gigantic cat. You can see that there are no claw marks."

"I don't know!" Susan said, "I looked away for a moment and there it was!"

They all studied it for a moment longer.

"Well," Peter said, "We'd best keep on, I'll walk behind."

Out from the shelter of the trees the snow had a crust of ice on its surface and walking suddenly became very much easier. Lucy found that one could skate on the ice; she went ahead, followed by Edmund, sliding, slipping and falling, getting picked up and falling again. Even Susan tried sliding and fell once, tearing a hole in her stockings.

* * *

"I think the robin is waking up," a warm, mild voice seeped into Chibb's fogged brain. "There now, that's better!"

A warm liquid was forced into Chibb's beak and he spluttered and opened his eyes.

He was laying on his back in a room that seemed very large, but it really wasn't. A lady with apple cheeks and a rosy smile was leaning over him with a spoon in one hand and a mug in the other.

"That's much better!" the lady said. "Oh don't move!"

Chibb flopped around so he was laying on his front, "Where am I?"

"You are at King Lune's castle at Anvard!" the lady said. "Goldwyn brought you last night. He said he rescued you over the border."

"I must see King Lune at once!"

"But you're not well enough to see the king!" the lady said, patting his head. "Maybe in a week or two."

"But I must see the king!" Chibb cheeped in the most commanding twitter he could muster.

The lady laughed, "I told you, you're not up to it. Now I'll go and let you rest. Sleep tight!"

She bustled out of the room, flashing a warm, mothering smile at him as she closed the door. Instantly the room seemed even bigger... it was near cathedral sized, now.

In desperation, Chibb jumped to his feet and fluttered painfully to the door. He landed on the door latch and stared at it with a bright eye. There was no possible way he could get it open.

There was a window across the room set with diamond panes and he could see the brightness of the outdoors gleaming on the glass. He hopped off the door latch, flew to the sill and peered out. He found himself looking down into a great courtyard stretching in all directions.

If he could only get out!

Chibb tried to turn the little knob on the window, but that sort of thing wasn't meant for a bird to do. When he saw he couldn't he threw a tantrum and pecked the wood work in the window frame; the next instant the window swung open and Chibb fell into thin air.

* * *

Shard's headlong gallop stopped at the edge of the wood and he sank down, only his blue eyes betraying that he was a wolf.

Beyond him were the fields, stretching on and on in endless whiteness, burning in the glare of the sun. Dark figures were walking some distance away, and he half stood up, then sank down again as the wind shifted, bringing with it the distant bay of the wolves. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled and he leapt to his feet, streaking out across the ice. He melted into the mist of blowing snow, making no noise except for the click and screech of his toenails.

As he approached the figures, he slid to a halt and came towards them with his tail wagging.

They were young humans; he thought as he looked at them, his head subconsciously cocked to one side. He recognized one of them, but the other three he had never seen.

Gently, imperceptibly, the wind shifted and suddenly Shard snapped to attention, one foreleg cocked.

"Squirrel!"

They all swung around to stare as he solidified in the flashing snow-mist as if he were a thing of snow himself; a thing of snow with cave ice for eyes.

Twang's dirk was out and under Shard's throat in a second, "Villain! Recreant! Murderer! How dare you!"

"My apologies," Shard said quietly, dropping down lower. "I lost my head. I am a friend. I mean to help you."

He annunciated carefully, as if afraid that they would not understand him.

"You also happen to be a wolf," Twang added. "Why shouldn't I slit your throat?"

"Wait, Twang," Edmund said, suddenly, "I recognize him. He's the one that I saw when I first came. Let the chap talk."

"I have seen your cousin." Shard said as Twang lowered the point of his sword.

"Where is he?" Susan asked quietly.

"In the house of Jadis," Shard said. "She turned him to stone."

"Oh Eustace!" Lucy gasped. "Poor, poor Eustace! What about Mr. Tumnus the faun?"

"He also is stone." Shard said, suddenly brisk; the wind had shifted again. "We must keep moving. I came to warn you that Fenris is on the loose with his band. They are on my tail and will find you soon. The wind is now in their favor."

The wind had been strengthening and now, at last, they heard themselves what had been ringing in Shard's ears for some minutes.

The long, mournful wails of wolves on the prowl.

"What do you propose we do?" Peter asked, glancing down at Twang and Oakheart, then at Shard.

"They are coming quickly," Shard said, standing tall, his body taut as his ears pricked back to catch ever sound that whispered along the ice, "but there, across the field is a great oak. If we run we may reach it before they arrive. We can put the brachets up in the branches and the rest of us can stand with our tails to the trunk!"

"His plan is sound," Twang said, whiskers quivering. "From the branches of the tree I will command a fine position to eliminate the enemy with my bow. Let us make haste!"

"Come on, then!" Peter cried, grabbing Lucy's hand.

They raced across the ice, slipping and falling, then getting up again. Lucy struggled after Peter, her short legs flying faster than she ever thought possible. She kept tripping and sliding along behind him before he realized it, and once she was up again, his sword rhythmically banged her in the face until she saw the whole white world tinted red through the ruby in the hilt.

When she looked behind her, she saw a line of wolves pouring across the snow like quicksilver.

"What's a brachet?" Lucy gasped as Shard fell in beside her.

"A lady wolf," Shard said, "I beg your pardon, madam. I hadn't meant to say that."

"Do you suppose Shackleton would have to have dealt with wolves?" Lucy asked Peter as she struggled after him.

Peter replied mechanically, as if in a dream, "Only penguins."

They reached the tree, panting, leaning against the bark. The next moment Peter regained his breath and swung Lucy into the lowest branch, telling her to climb higher. Twang hurried after.

"Now Susan," Peter said, turning to her. "Hurry."

"No," Susan said, "I'll stay down here and help."

"How?" Peter asked. "With what?"

She half drew her dagger, but he pushed it back into the sheath. "That's a pocket knife, Susan, those wolves are huge. Edmund, help me!"

"Susan, you must listen to him!" Edmund exclaimed. "You'll be reinforcements."

At last she conceded, but not because she agreed. The others leaned against the trunk, painting. Peter and Edmund drew their swords and held them, half unsure of what to do and all around them, the wolves fanned out, their yellow eyes gleaming as they neared.

The largest, a great black wolf separated from the rest and approached.

"I am Fenris!" he called, his voice coming clear across the snow. "I will show you the black flag and will give you no quarter. Will you surrender?"

"Never!" Peter called back, afraid that his voice was shaking. "You'll kill us whether we surrender or not!"

"That's telling him," Oakheart said with respect.

Lucy watched with admiration as Twang bent his recurve bow, stringing it, then snapped an arrow to the string in a few easy motions. The great ring on his right paw flashed and Lucy saw a strange design curving across it as he slowly drew the string to the base of his tufted ear.

Susan looked down through the branches, feeling the cold bark even through her gloves. Below them, the wolves started to circle, slouching shoulder blades rippling under the tide of their fur, their tongues hanging as their breath misted the air. Their silver coats flowed as they walked, their black masks framing their wild and horrible faces. Susan thought she had never seen anything so beautiful.

Fenris was closer now, feinting sideways every so often, weaving as he came so they never quite knew what he would do next. "Shard, I'm ashamed of you! You know I won't spare you, even if you are my brother."

"I won't spare _you_," Shard hissed, crouching lower beside Edmund.

"I'm glad to hear it. It will only make killing you easier." Fenris said, his eyes half closed, a glimmer of blue between the lids as he looked again at Peter, "You won't surrender?"

"I'll kill you first," Peter exclaimed, shaking his sword the way he might have shaken a stick at a fox steeling chickens.

"Fool!" Fenris roared. "I cannot be killed by a man! It has been prophesied."

"It is true," Shard whispered. "Leave him to me."

Above their heads, Twang climbed higher in the branches, his tail twisting for balance. Carefully, he aimed for Fenris's right eye and let fly the arrow. The shot was true and would have hit its mark if Fenris had not, with some uncanny instinct, anticipated it and swing around, the arrow burning through the air next to his head.

Fenris threw back his head and howled, then leaped for Shard.

* * *

**Production Note:** The special effects department is having trouble with Peter. It appears that he wants to do all his own stunts. Unfortunately our insurance won't allow for this.


	9. King Lune

King Lune

* * *

_"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: Of shoes and ships - and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings"._

~ Lewis Carroll

* * *

As Chibb toppled out the window and spread out his stubby, little wings, the courtyard whirled below in a colorful blur of brightly dressed chambermaids airing blankets, stable boys watering horses and gentlemen at arms smoking pipes.

He was terribly dizzy and he came down the way an oak leaf falls in autumn, frantically beating his wings to clear an alcove below. He twirled past a chambermaid, narrowly avoiding a basket of washing.

"Sorry!" he cheeped, then flew headlong into a black wall.

He fell to the cobbles, slightly stunned, his feet quivering above him.

"What's this?"

I really can't describe what it's like to be a bird that has just fallen out a window, avoided washing by a hair's breath, then is promptly picked up by a massive centaur. He saw a great, noble face blur into his vision, topped by curly black hair as the centaur held him up in the palm of his gigantic hand.

"Excuse me?" Chibb piped, "Do you know where I can find King Lune?"

"It's a Robin!" the centaur exclaimed brilliantly. "I'm Flavis. I'm pleased to meet you Master Robin."

"Just Chibb," Chibb scrambled to his feet. "Do you know where I can find King Lune? It's a matter of life and death!"

"The king is in a counsel with Equus," Flavis said. "I'm afraid he's not exactly available at the moment."

"But it's important!" Chibb chirped, hopping up and down on the centaur's outstretched hand. "The four children of the prophecy are in Narnia right now!"

"What children?"

A red centaur had been standing on the other side of the fountain, listening keenly to their conversation, now he came around to them, his hooves ringing on the cobbles.

"What children?" he repeated, eyeing Chibb as if he were a new kind of insect.

"The children must be rescued or Narnia is lost!" Chibb squeaked. His head was hurting and neither of them seemed to be getting the point.

"I'm sorry Chibb," Flavis said comfortingly, fighting an urge to run his finger along the Robin's downy waistcoat, "We would love to rescue your children very much, but we really can't. I'm sure they'll be able to fly soon and rescue themselves."

"They aren't my children!" Chibb was so flustered he fluttered into the air and hovered above Flavis' hand. "It's the four children from the prophecy!"

There was silence as Chibb landed again and looked up at both their silent faces. There was sunlight in their eyes as they looked at him snow was blowing off the ramparts above them, drifting down to make the air sparkle.

"Tell me more," the red centaur said abruptly. "His assistance may prove invaluable."

"Martin, I think he's dazed…" Flavis began, glancing at his friend. "And stop using big words. I'm too young to comprehend them."

"I'm _not_ dazed!" Chibb twittered hopping up and down, his tail quivering in excitement. "There are humans in Narnia! The four from the prophecy that was given long ago! They must have help now!"

Martin looked at him closely, then held out his finger for Chibb to climb on.

"I believe he speaks the truth, Flavis," Martin said, holding the Robin aloft. "Come, we are going to see the king!"

"But Martin!" Flavis exclaimed, "He's in a conference!"

"It matters not!" Martin cried, turning in a rear, "The destiny of the world may rest on our shoulders!"

"Stop being so dramatic!" Flavis yelled, but already sparks were dashing from under Martin's hooves as he thundered across the courtyard and though a side door. Chibb flapped his wings madly, barely managing to balance on Martin's outstretched hand as the centaur galloped down the hallways, everyone in his path plastering themselves against the walls.

"Martin! Slow down!" Flavis yelled, leaping after him. Hurriedly he picked up a man servant who had been knocked spinning. "Sorry about that! He's a little excitable sometimes!"

Martin rounded a corner and exploded through a heavy oak door to rear in the middle of a room.

Light fell from two tall windows overlooking a snow covered garden onto an exotic rug laid across a wood floor. A great desk dominated the room, massively, yet simply made and behind it, a young man with a kind face looked up in surprise. A magnificent gray centaur stood by the open hearth, leaning on the mantle, his face young, but his hair almost white; he crossed his arms and looked disapproving as Martin entered the room.

"Martin!" the man at the desk exclaimed. "Is the castle on fire?"

"Your majesty!" Martin dropped into a bow, "this young Robin has extremely valuable information!"

"Apologies for the intrusion, your majesty," Flavis said, coming into the room. "He's… well, you know what he's like."

"Yes, I know what he's like," the man said with a laugh. "Well, friend Robin, state your business. I'm listening."

Chibb fluttered over to the desk and perched delicately on the cover of the ink pot. A long curving feather of a dappled goose was laid carelessly across a parchment covered with writing and above him towered a gigantic, flat disk set in a circular frame that allowed it to turn. It was, in fact, a map of the world.

"Please," Chibb cheeped, looking up at the man, "are you King Lune?"

~o*o~

The battle at the oak seemed to go at first in the favor of the Narnians. Twang, at his perch in the tree, fire arrow after perfectly aimed arrow, but his bow was small and his shots did not have the power that he wished for. He aimed for the most vulnerable places on the wolves, their eyes, their noses, their temples, and though he nearly never missed, his shots were more irritating than fatal. Lucy on the other hand, couldn't draw her bow all the way and her arrows went wide, though they did create a disturbance when they landed.

Peter, Edmund and Oakheart battled at the foot of the oak, their swords flashing as they swung at the approaching wolves that seemed to ebb and flow like a silver tide around them.

In the years afterwards, that first battle had sunk into a black struggle in their memories, a horrible surge of gray, snarling fur and the song of steel. Looking back, they often wondered how they managed to keep from cutting off their own legs, much less damage the wolves… and the wolves seemed to grow in their eyes, magnified until they were fierce giants with bloody jaws.

Somewhere beyond the throbbing heat that surrounded them, it began to snow, gently at first, flakes spiraling through the air like tiny white fairies. But soon it came faster, whirling like dervishes, blotting out the world the way an India rubber blots the lines of a pencil, and stinging their faces as they fought.

Lucy had lost sight of Shard. He had vanished into the whiteness like a ghost vanishing into a cloud. The falling snow seemed to form a wall around them, cutting them off from the world, all they saw were the branches of the tree and the wolves, bursting from the blizzard to attack and vanish again.

At last Canis, the most massive of the grey wolves, leapt at Peter, his fangs gleaming in his open mouth as his teeth buried in Peter's arm and pulled him away from the tree. Frantically Edmund stabbed at Canis' writhing body, but the wolf slipped out of his blow and dragged Peter down to his knees. Blood sank, orange, into the snow as more wolves burst out of the white storm and grabbed him, dragging him away until they could see him no longer.

"Peter!" Edmund screamed and though Oakheart called to him, he plunged forward into the whirling snow, vanishing from the sight of those in the tree.

"Lucy!" Susan cried, reaching out to grab her arm. "Blow your horn!"

Lucy was already fumbling for it. She put it to her lips, the cold metal burning her skin, and blew with all her might. It was a cool, clear note, both merry and grave and when she took the horn from her lips the bright voice still hung, shimmering, in the air.

"Stay here Lucy," Susan called, as she twisted down from the tree, landing on her hands and knees in the snow. She struggled to stand, drawing her dagger to hold it before her.

Then a roar shook the earth and they saw the shadow of something huge emerging from the snow. It seemed to be a man, but a massive one, towering like a giant above the earth. Its eyes seemed to glow red like live coals as it swung around, swatting at the shadows that they knew were wolves.

"Edmund!" They heard Peter's voice, very well and full of life. "Get back to the tree!"

Edmund stumbled out of the snow and Susan caught him as he fell. "Are you all right? _Are_ you all right?"

"I'm fine, fine," he wiped snow out of his eyes with a gloved hand. The sword drooped in his left.

Peter came next, staggering from the mist to lean against the tree, clutching Rhindon by the hilt. His overcoat was shredded and Susan's stomach tightened as she saw the dull flash of blood on his arm.

"It's a simply massive bear," Peter said, breathing hard. "She just came out of nowhere, swatted all the wolves that had me and told me to go back. She's fighting like a maniac."

"What was the sound?" Edmund asked. "That clear, high sound?"

"Lucy's horn," Susan said. "She blew it a bit ago, when all seemed to be lost."

"And help came," Oakheart said. "Next time, young sir, don't leave your post."

"But, Peter…" Edmund trailed off.

"With your skill, or lack thereof, you wouldn't have been able to help him," Oakheart said. "You're both a couple of fine lummoxes."

The snow was lessening now and they saw the shadow of the bear more clearly as she swung around with slow, horrifying grace; her great, heavy clawed paws sending wolves spinning through the air.

Three quick yips echoed towards them and suddenly all the wolves vanished back into the snow. The bear roared, charging after them, then slowly swung around, eyes burning, to inspect the mismatched assortment of creatures by the oak.

~o*o~

"What a remarkable story!" King Lune said, crossing his hands behind his head after Chibb had left the room, "What do you propose we do about it?"

"I'm going to fetch them," Martin said, a spark leaping as he stamped the stone floor.

"Well, I'll come too, then," Flavis said, crossing his arms. "You _might_ get yourself into trouble."

Martin ignored him.

"But how do you know the little robin is telling the truth?" King Lune asked, leaning foward. "I've found Robins to be a bit scatterbrained in the past."

"The time is ripe," the gray haired centaur spoke for the first time, gazing into the fireplace as the flames licked up towards the flu, many colored sparks leaping from a copper nail stuck in one of the logs. "I have watched the stars for years; they foretell the coming of the four. The prophecy will be fulfilled soon."

"Yes I remember that," King Lune said quietly, glancing up at him. "You think that Chibb _is_ telling the truth, Equus?"

"I do," Equus said, turning to look at him, "and furthermore, I will go with Martin and Flavis."

"But children…" King Lune trailed off. "I didn't expect them to be children."

"We can never know what to expect," Equus replied.

King Lune sat back in his chair, his eyes twinkling as he gazed at them. They were young, all three of them, but no one could match Equus' wisdom, or Martin's martial prowess, or Flavis' general good temper. He had grown up with them; riding to the hunt, or flying falcons on sunny afternoons. He knew them as well as he knew himself, but they were Narnians and he had been the crown prince of Archenland, there were things that they could never share.

"I have no power over you; you are free Narnians. You may come and go as you please. Bring back these four children and I will give them my friendship. If…" King Lune leaned forward, looking at them levelly, "…_if_ there _are_ four children and _if_ it will rid us of this Witch, it is a great 'if' gentlemen."

"So, do we go with your blessing?" Equus asked.

"I ought to have your blessing! You're the prophet," King Lune laughed, swinging out of his chair to clasp them each by the hand. "But if I wasn't tied up with kingship I'd go too, old friend. When will you leave?"

"Now." Martin said abruptly. He glanced at Flavis and Equus, "Coming?"

"Let's go!" Flavis said.

"I will have provisions prepared for your journey," King Lune said, turning to pull a bell rope behind his chair, "Go now, Aslan's blessings upon you."

The three centaurs bowed, leaving the chamber and King Lune stood listening as the ringing of their hooves echoed down the corridor and vanished into the stillness.

* * *

**Author's Note:** We had a proper blizzard yesterday. I'm going to have a lot of shoveling to do today. ;) King Lune has always been one of my favorite characters; who says he was old? He might very well have been in his late thirties or early forties in _The Horse and His Boy_. He might have been 'fat', but he was still spry enough to ride a horse and fight in a battle.

A quick note on Fenris (which you might already know): In early American additions of LWW, Lewis changed Maugrim's name to Fenris Ulf, which of course, is a nod to Fenris Wolf, or Fenrir of Norse Mythology, the son of Loki, who is foretold to kill Odin. I wonder if Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's _The_ _Hound of the Baskervilles _has any roots in the mythology about this monster?

~Psyche

**Production Note:** The wolves are threatening to sue for damages. They say they had the distinct impression that Peter and Edmund were really trying to kill them. They think that sort of realism is too real.


	10. Trevelyan

Trevelyan

* * *

_The fox never found a better messenger than himself._

~ Irish Proverb

* * *

"Did you ever hear the story of how bear lost his tail?"

Lucy was seated high, her hands buried in golden brown fur.

The Bear was Bruinhild, a great, beautiful creature with eyes as soft as the morning sky and teeth like daggers. Night was settling in and she had quickly decided to take them to a safer place.

"Our next contact is a badger in the Tanglewood," Oakheart had explained. "We were supposed to reach him tonight."

"I can contact him as soon as you are safe," Bruinhild said calmly. "And you are safer with me than with a badger. Wolves would never dare venture into a bear's den… and the ceilings are higher." She added, glancing at Peter.

At last they had agreed. As she pointed out, her den was not far from Earthdigger's burrow and Susan only wanted somewhere warm where she could have a look at Peter's arm.

"If she was white, she could be a polar bear," Lucy had said rather dreamily.

"But there aren't any polar bears in the south," Edmund had reminded her. "And we're going to the South Pole, remember?"

"Did you ever hear how bear lost his tail?"Bruinhild asked again, jarring Lucy awake.

"No, I never did." Lucy said. "I didn't know that bears had tails."

"Once, bear- the first Bear- had a tail," Bruinhild's voice was very low and smooth, as smooth as her easy lope. "It was a beautiful tail, long and furry as any tail in the world and Bear was very proud of it. 'Don't you think my tail is beautiful?' Bear often asked and the other animals always agreed with him, because they were afraid of Bear's temper and great claws.

"But one day, Fox, who was a troublemaker, thought he would play a trick on Bear and when Bear came down to the pond one clear wintery day, Fox was waiting for him, surrounded by shining fish. Bear was hungry, so he asked Fox where he had got all the fish.

"Fox looked at him out of the corner of his eye, 'I caught them, friend.'

"Bear was shocked, 'you caught them? How did you catch so many? You haven't anything to catch them with.'

"Fox chuckled behind his paw, 'I used my tail.'

"'Your tail?' Bear cried.

"'Aye, my tail,' Fox said. 'The finer tail you have, the more fish you'll catch. Would you like to try it?'

"Bear wanted to and Fox led him down to the ice, instructing him to break a hole. 'Now lower your tail into the water. You feel when a fish bites and you can pull it out.'

"Bear sat down on the edge of the pond and lowered his long, beautiful tail into the water, telling himself that he would catch many fish. Bear sat very still and thought about fish jumping onto his tail. He counted each one. It was very tiring. He fell asleep.

"It became very cold and started to snow and Fox went back to his house, taking his fish with him. A few hours later, taking pity on Bear, Fox came back to the lake, but when he returned he laughed and thought to play one more trick. 'Bear! Bear! There is a fish on your tail! Can you feel it?'

"Bear woke up with a fright and felt a sharp pain in his frozen tail. 'I can feel it!' he shouted, leaping to his feet, but alas, his tail had frozen and when he moved, it snapped off.

"And that is why bears have no tails." Bruinhild finished.

Lucy laughed. "It's sad and funny all at once. Is it really true?"

"Of course it's true," Bruinhild scoffed. "You can see it in the stars. The great Bear never lost his tail and we can always look up and remember how ours once looked."

"You're ten times better than Baloo," Lucy whispered, lying down on Bruinhild's neck. If she turned her head, she could see the sky stretching above her in a great, clear cold emptiness, flashing with stars. The gilded western horizon still glimmered through the trees like fairy light, but she could see the stars very clearly now.

~o*o~

Trevelyan fidgeted.

He fidgeted on account of the fact that he hated school and now, as he sat in front of the fireplace in the den with his tail curled around his paws, he had to answer geography questions about his native home in Narnia. His mother had made him learn every inch of Narnia by heart even though she knew he had never set foot there. Every Narnian child, for that matter, had to learn the map. It was told that someday, with Aslan's help, they would invade Narnia and take it back and it would be ruled over by four people from a prophecy. That prophecy had been told long ago and the present Prophet, Equus the great centaur, had said that it would be fulfilled soon.

Of course nocreature knew when 'soon' was supposed to be.

Treve had always longed to meet Equus and even more, Martin, the general over the army of Narnia. Though the Narnians had not set foot in their homeland for a hundred years, the army had not been disbanded and was paramount in Archenlandish defense.

Treve yawned and pricked his ears towards his mother's voice, honestly attempting to concentrate as she explained his history lesson. Today it was on King Frank and Queen Helen, the first monarchs of Narnia, the first monarchs of anywhere for that matter. Aslan had brought them in at the Dawn of Time when he first created the world.

The Witch also, had come at the dawn of time from a different world, it was said that two children brought her in because they didn't want her in their world. "Rather poor sports, them," Treve had said with disgust.

At last Treve's mother stood up and stretched, looking down at her daydreaming son fondly, "You're done," she said. "You can go and do want you want now, just not anything dangerous."

Those were the words Treve had been waiting to hear all afternoon; he was done with schoolwork!

With a happy shout of joy, Treve lept into the air and shot out of the den as his mother shook her head and wondered if she should have named him 'arrow'.

Winter days were short and Treve found that the sun was already beginning to go down, it didn't bother him, red foxes were mostly nocturnal. He decided to go have a look at his ice den and see if any snow had fallen in it.

He had built his ice den earlier that winter, it was supposed to be a snow den, but then it rained and it had become an ice den. He had built it in the woods in a clear spot where part of the pass had once been.

The pass.

It had fallen into disrepair and almost forgotten by most creatures, but Treve had lived there all his life. The first part of the pass was quite obvious and Treve followed it until he came to a little hole in the snow bank and disappeared down it.

Blue light filtered down on Treve; he loved his den. He had heard that shades of blue that intense were supposed to make you go crazy. The den gave him a quiet place to think and he loved to think, about heroes mostly. Treve had never been a hero and he longed to try his paw at it so, he sat in his den thinking about heroes and heroic things, honestly hoping some of it would rub off on him. He dreamed of adventures and glorious quests, he'd even tried doing some of them. Once he tried to rescue a damsel in distress, but the damsel got sick of waiting and by the time he got there she was gone.

He didn't feel heroic.

Mesmerized by the blue and the faint calls of heroes ringing in his head, he rested his nose on his paws and drifted to sleep. He dreamed he was a great warrior and all the land knew his name and asked him to do great deeds. Dragons, damsels, giants, knights in shining armor…

He could hear hoof beats, the ringing sound of hard wrought steel on sparking ice. It grew louder, reverberating in the den until it seemed to be the very thumping of Treve's heart. He sat up suddenly and still heard it, steady and magnificent.

Adventure hung heavy in the air.

Treve clawed his way out of his den and was startled to see three Centaurs with Hawks coming towards him. Two of them were bundled up for winter, but the third, a red Centaur, wore nothing, not even a leather pad to protect him from the talons of the Hawk on his shoulder like the others wore.

"Hello there," one of the Centaurs stopped and looked at him. He had curly black hair. The hawk on his shoulder eyed the young fox with a look bordering on contempt. "Do you know an easier way to get though the pass? It's got a lot of ice blocking it up."

Treve was petrified.

Heroic Centaurs and Hawks were asking _him_, Trevelyan, a way though the pass?

"Yes sir," he gulped, "a bit sir, a much easier way, sir, this isn't the way actually, it's over there."

"Really now!" the black Centaur exclaimed. The other two Centaurs swung around and caught sight of Treve where he crouched in the snow. The Hawks blinked with far-seeing yellow eyes, scrutinizing his every hair.

"What?" Martin asked.

"This young chap says he knows an easier way through the pass," Flavis explained, glancing at him.

"Trust you to ask about an easier way," Martin muttered, stamping a hoof.

"Can you show us?" Equus asked, turning to Treve.

"I'd be- I'd be _honored!_" Treve exclaimed.

"What's your name?" the Flavis asked. "I'm Flavis, by the way."

"Treve…" Treve said, then, "Trevelyan actually."

"Trevelyan," Flavis repeated, "how did you get such a long name? Flash it by Martin, he likes long words."

Martin snorted.

"My mother thought it sounded dignified," Treve explained. "She named me after an eagle that saved her life once."

"Really?" Flavis said, "Forgive me for asking young sir, but are you a Narnian?"

"Oh, yes sir!"

"I thought so," Flavis said, "It's the accent."

"What about this easier way though the pass," Equus reminded them, glancing up at the glowing sky, traced of with the rivers of evening light. "Time is passing."

"Hang on Equus," Flavis said, "we don't even know if this young chap's parents want him to gallivant down an icy pass in the middle of the night."

"Sir?" Treve asked.

"Yes?"

"Why _are_ yougoing down the pass?" Treve asked, "Are you going to Narnia?"

The centaurs looked at each other, then back at Treve.

"We have no time to waste, Flavis," Martin said impatiently. "If he can send us in the right direction it will be enough."

"I can take you," Treve said eagerly. "I really can. I'm quite certain that my parents won't mind. I've been all over the pass."

"Oh," Flavis shifted uncomfortably. "Very well, let's go."

Treve's tail puffed up twice its normal size. He felt immensely important; he, Trevelyan, was going to show three great, lordly Centaurs- not mentioning the Hawks- over the pass to Narnia. Of course he'd have to come back as soon as he was done showing them. He hated the thought. What an adventure it would be to go into Narnia with three great, lordly Centaurs! Then he started to wonder why three great, lordly centaurs were going into Narnia in the first place…

Treve led on, his tail straight up, the white tip bobbing proudly in the falling light. The path was at first hard to find, so overgrown was it, but as the land started rising and the cliffs grew steeper it became clearer until they were on a very high ledge, many feet above the ground. The centaurs' hooves slipped on the ice and pebbles went bouncing down the cliff to their left, to vanish into the snowy bank.

As night came swooping down on them like black silk, the cold penetrated deep; even Treve could feel it though his thick winter coat. The Hawks fluffed up their feathers and muttered about the weather. Only Martin seemed impervious.

As they rounded a rocky pinnacle that stretched giant-like into the sky, Narnia suddenly spread out in limitless silver; moonlit snow banded with the stretching shadows of trees. They could see a line of dark woods in the distance and very far away, black and glittering as onyx, was the sea.

"This is far enough," Flavis said, coming to a halt. "We can find our way from here. You should return now, Treve."

Treve glanced up at him; Flavis' voice had lost its joking tone and was now deadly serious. Flavis glanced down at him again and his face softened. "Sorry, it's just that this is the first time any of us, except perhaps the Hawks, have been in Narnia. It's like treading on sacred ground."

Treve was silent. He had never told his parents that he himself had been in Narnia many times. It was, in their opinion, too dangerous.

"We have never been in Narnia," Jafa, the Hawk on Flavis' shoulder corrected, "we have only flown over it."

"At least you've breathed Narnian air," Flavis said.

"Which we ought to start doing now," Elah announced from Martin's shoulder, "if we are ever going to find those children."

"Breath air?" Flavis asked inquisitively.

"No," Elah said, fluffing his feathers indignantly, "Fly over Narnia."

"At night?" Ergo, the third Hawk, squawked. "Not on your life! Wouldn't be able to spot a thing."

Children? Treve's breath starting coming in gasps, as he stared up at them and unbidden, the question slipped from him before he could catch it, "not the children from the prophecy?"

The three Centaurs looked at each other, their faces still in the moonlight.

"Do you promise on your honor not to breathe a word of it to anyone?" Flavis asked, bending down to look Treve in the eye.

"Yes sir," Treve gasped, "I promise!"

"Well," Equus said gently, "it's high time you headed back to your den, before the night has grown too old."

"Yes sir…thank you sir…very much," Treve almost wagged his tail, then they watched as he turned and trotted away the way they had come, his white tail tip bobbing in the moonlight.

"He's a good pup," Flavis remarked.

* * *

**Production Notes:** The Once and Future King is officially over budget. Fortunately Edmund says there are some extra diamonds hanging around in the Cair Paravel treasure chamber that are just collecting dust anyway.


	11. The Few

The Few

* * *

_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;_

_ For he to-day that sheds his blood with me_

_ Shall be my brother_

~ William Shakespeare

* * *

Treve didn't really leave.

He only slunk into some dense bushing and lay there watching as the Centaurs and Hawks stood on the ledge and discussed what they were going to do. He intended to go with them, of course. He knew they'd send him back if they saw him, but he was determined that they wouldn't…maybe he would even save their lives and be a hero! After all no one had said he _couldn't_ go with them.

Hours passed and he dozed, half awake, as only a fox can, watching through slitted eyes, his paws twitching in excitement.

There was a hint of light in the sky in the east and as it grew and the edge of the sun burned beyond the sea, Elah, Jafa and Ergo took off, circled and disappeared into the sky.

~o*o~

Lucy woke.

She was lying on a low bed, buried in blankets and furs and deliciously warm. She was in a largish, round room, hollowed out of the hillside, the massive roots of an ancient tree forming the beams of the ceiling and curving around the walls. Golden light flickered across the ceiling as the logs crackled and fell on a great hearth. There was a low murmur of voices behind her.

"Susan?" she called, "Peter? Edmund?"

"We're here," Susan's voice was comfortingly near and Lucy sat up to see Peter and Edmund sitting on stools by the fire, their hands around mugs of coffee. They were playing chess on one of the largest board Lucy had ever seen; the chess pieces were obviously hand carved, each different then the last with funny expressions and all carved like bears.

Shard lay on his side by the fire, his coat washed with golden light and the great, comforting form of Bruinhild cast a great shadow on the other side of the room.

"Where are we? What's happened?"

"You must have been very tired," Susan said, kneeling down next to Lucy's bed, "You fell asleep on Bruinhild's back and Peter had to carry you the rest of the way. You never woke."

"Where are we?" Lucy asked again, sitting up slowly.

"In Bruinhild's den. We heard the bay of wolves again on the way here and a very friendly person came and covered our tracks all the way."

"Who is she?" Lucy asked.

Susan leaned close; "she's a skunk," she whispered.

They sat there on Lucy's bed, watching the others. There were a great deal of different sorts of people all around, talking in their own special way. Lucy felt that she could never grow tired of looking at them all. The main chamber of Bruinhild's den was very large, but it seemed rather small with all the company she had.

"Isn't it nice?" Susan asked quietly. "They all came to say hello. Bruinhild isn't happy, because she says the less people who know about us the better. But just look at them all! Moles, rabbits, badgers, foxes! It's simply amazing to be so close to them."

The animals didn't say a great deal to the children, they only looked at them with bright, eager eyes the way drowning men look at water. Lined up on a curving root, a choir of sparrows sang a traditional Narnian folk song, flapping their wings to the beat.

While Lucy ate a breakfast of dried fruit and bread spread over liberally with butter and golden honey, an aging faun with a gray beard came forward and offered to give Peter and Edmund a short lesson in swordsmanship.

All the animals squeezed themselves around the sidelines to make room and under his direction Peter and Edmund learned the basic parry positions and a few tricks with thrusts.

"You have a fine sword," the faun said partway through, and Peter stopped to let his eyes run down the length of his blade.

"It is a dark one." He replied.

"But a beautiful one, nonetheless; it is its very starkness that makes it beautiful. The lines are clean and true and it has no adornment to weigh you down. It is light as a feather and swift as the wind in winter."

"Father Christmas said it had a hidden light," Peter said. "I haven't seen it yet."

"Perhaps in looking for it you will find out something about yourself," the faun replied, "Now, back to what we were doing."

The others watched eagerly as they practiced. Practice was a hard thing, it required patience and patience was a virtue of which neither Peter nor Edmund had a large supply. The faun chided them when they went on too fast.

"The key to swordsmanship is to learn the moves so thoroughly you can do them in your sleep," the faun explained, letting the point of the poker with which he had been demonstrating, touch the ground, "Parrying will become a reaction, leaving your mind free to plan your attack. You've had a good start; I only hope you will continue."

He came to Edmund and touched him on the shoulder, "Though your brother is taller and stronger and seems to have a gift for swordsmanship, you also have a gift; because you are left handed you will always take your enemies by surprise."

"Thank you for all you've done," Peter said seriously, then turned to the others, "We should probably be leaving as soon as possible. We haven't any time to waste. The longer we are here, the harder it will be for us to get out."

"I'm so tired," Lucy complained.

"At least you slept all night," Edmund said, with a grin as he came over to tousle her golden hair. "I agree with Peter."

"Of course," Susan said, "I just wish it wasn't so cold."

"It will warm up once we start walking," Peter said and laughed as Lucy made a face.

~o*o~

Their bodyguard had increased since leaving the Beaver's little house on the dam. They were now accompanied by a rather frightening white Wolf, two fierce looking Squirrels and a massive Bear.

The faun, the only of Bruinhild's guests who had known anything about the martial arts, had offered to accompany them as well, but Bruinhild had vetoed this idea.

"Your heart is still strong, but your body is old and will slow us down."

In the end he had stayed, but all the animals stood and watched them leave, in their hearts cheering for the humans that they now looked on as liberators.

"They're going to come back and set us free," Peter had overheard one mole maid tell her little brother.

The words had had a strange effect on him.

Up until now, his only thought was to reach a place of safety; but now he began to think of what would come after. These creatures really believed that they were going to come back and save them and unconsciously, Peter began to believe himself that they would. There was such a look of hope in their eyes that in his heart he could not bear to let them down.

All around them Narnia spread out, vast and beautiful. Each cascading hill dazzled them with the early morning sunlight flashing off their icy tops and in the distance the mountains between Archenland and Narnia rose, a foreboding range.

Lucy was the only one of the four that was really happy. She sat perched high on Bruinhild's back, like a little red cardinal in her winter coat. The cold wind blew over the ice and the happy sound of her laughter lit the sky in a way it had not been lit for a hundred years.

Edmund walked beside Peter, subconsciously trying to match his brother's stride, Shard caught his eye and Edmund almost thought the wolf smiled.

After about three hours of walking they came to a frozen river and passed over it. The land changed and became hillier and there was a scattering of ice-covered trees that thickened into woods. They had been walking so long now that it almost seemed natural to swing the next leg forward; but they were desperately weary.

Oakheart cheered them up by saying that they had walked a long ways since they left the beavers' house.

"Of course," he added a bit glumly. "There are twenty miles more to go before we reached the foothills."

To keep them company, Twang talked; an exercise he seemed to have no trouble executing.

"Narnia is a small land," he announced to his silent audience. "It's about two hundred miles along the sea coast from the boarder of Archenland to the boarder of Ettinsmoor. No one really knows how big Ettinsmoor is, but it adds at least another hundred miles to the length of Narnia. The other way, it's a hundred and fifty miles from Cair Paravel to the boarder of Telmar. We've started our journey from near the middle of the southern half of Narnia."

Trees were far more interesting then fields of snow, though the going was harder because there was no ice crust under the sheltering branches of the trees, but here at least, they could watch the fat little chickadees flutter through the branches, calling loudly to one another. They saw chipmunks dashing light-footed between tree branches, their stripes melding with the shadows and once, they saw the dim outline of a deer, stepping soundlessly between the rough-hewn trunks that stood mightily around them.

Edmund walked ahead of the others, his eyes on the virgin snow. The trees wore white cloaks where the snow had been driven into their bark in the last snowfall and dancing all across the forest floor, Edmund saw the tiny footprints of little animals, all different and all wonderful. There were the long, padded leaps of squirrels; the sharp, careful marks of deer; the great, bounding hops of rabbits; and the teensy, tiny, twittering feet of mice. Once, he knelt down to trace the little unshod hooves of a moor pony and the soft, careful tracks of a fox.

There was no wind, but the trees seemed to rustle and sigh on their own.

"They were awake once," Twang said, gesturing to the trees, "all of them, except the ones that are on the Witch's side, are asleep."

"The trees are alive?" Lucy gasped, "How wonderful!"

Edmund looked with new respect at the trees, staring up into their great, silent branches, frozen in the sunlight.

They came out onto a field again and with a burning flash the sun came out from behind a cloud and seemed to be sowing the earth with diamonds, how beautifully the snow flashed. Now a dead world seemed to be alive.

"Look!" Edmund said suddenly pointing at the great blue sky, "There's a hawk!"

"Hawks in Narnia?" Twang searched the sky, puzzled, "are you sure they aren't vultures?"

"No," Edmund said, "they're hawks. The wings are tapered and they're too big to be anything else."

"But there aren't any hawks in Narnia!" Twang exclaimed, slightly miffed.

"He's right," Oakheart said, pointing as he saw one, a dark spec, banking above them, "they're hawks!"

~o*o~

The day passed and evening came, sweeping his cloak over them, to smother them in darkness.

"We'll have to stop soon, won't we?" Susan asked at last, stumbling along next to Peter. He glanced at her and realized as he walked that he could no longer make out her face. The glittering crystals of moonlight seemed all around them, sparkling like tiny lights, only to be winked out again the moment one drew near them. They were like will o' the wisps, drawing them ever onward with a shimmering path of white light in the darkness.

"Yes," Oakheart said. "We'll have to stop soon… but tomorrow! Tomorrow we will reach Archenland."

"Where do we stop?"Bruinhild asked. "I know many bears in these parts who would welcome us."

"Just beyond the Tanglewood lives a wise old faun who is the one of the last links of the chain. If we can only reach him we will have done well," Oakheart said.

They trudged on; cold had become part of them. Very feel people realize just what cold is. It is dry and hard; crackling in the pith of the trees and burning raw skin like fire. It is a life taker; sucking the warmth from the living the way a vampire sucks blood. It is a gentle caresser; its numbing touch reaching the very heart and wringing it dry.

In the darkness, they heard an explosion, cracking through the silence like a thunderbolt. Lucy jumped and screamed, nearly falling off Bruinhild's back, "What was that?!"

"A tree just froze," Oakheart replied calmly. "If it gets cold enough their branches often burst when their sap freezes."

"I will be perfectly happy never to see snow again," Peter said with a laugh.

"I'll be perfectly happy never to be cold again," Edmund muttered.

"Cold? Who's cold?" Peter asked, cuffing him on the shoulder.

The stars were looking down at them, glimmering between the branches of the trees as they went. They could look up and see them and wonder about the people who saw them miles and miles away in very different places.

"Well, there's Archenland," Oakheart had said when asked about other countries than Narnia. "And Calormen to the south. It's a hot land, deserty, no trees," he shivered. "Imagine life without trees…"

"Telmar lies on the western border," Twang took up where his cousin left off. "And then there's Cathay, which is a land of pagodas and silk and lotus flowers. And then there's Ruska, I've never seen it, but I've heard that they have buildings that look like giant confections, all painted with dots and spirals."

"It sounds nice," Lucy said sleepily from her high perch on Bruinhild's back. "Tell me about the stars again."

So Bruinhild told about the stars.

"There's the Lion and the Ship," she said, her great, low voice murmuring through the silent wood. "This is the winter sky, but in the summer you can see the Twins frolicking in the courtyard of the Castle-"

"The wolves are on our trail again," Shard said suddenly, his voice sharp. "I recognize Fenris' scent."

They all stopped and looked back into the tall shadows of the woods, fear blowing low and chilling everything in its path as they turned.

"The wind has just shifted," Shard said, his voice quiet, smothered by the darkness that crouched around them. "They'll be catching our scent next."

"What should we do?" Susan asked and hated how her voice shook.

"Keep moving," Bruinhild said, swinging around and breaking into a slow lope.

They followed after her, moving at a dog trot, they gasped for breath and could taste blood in their throats as the cold bit them. Out of the muffling darkness, the first long, haunting, heart-broken wail rose and moaned like wind on ice.

"Sometimes they can cover ground faster than a horse," Shard said as he swung along easily next to them. "Nothing holds them back."

Peter listened and ran and felt Susan's hand reaching out to catch his, cold as ice and shaking…but it was his hand shaking. The moaning followed them, a chorus rising and falling, twining in the trees. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw flickering, dark forms racing soft-footed through the trees, one with the shadows.

"They've caught up with us!" Edmund gasped.

"They've been waiting for darkness!" Shard replied.

No one else said anything. There was nothing to say; they could only see those flickering shapes just out of the corner of their eyes, shadow on shadow, keeping pace as they ran. There was moonlight ahead and quite suddenly, the travelers burst into a wide clearing, strangely level, the snow spreading out like a calm sea of silver.

"Dancing Lawn!" Oakheart exclaimed.

"We should stop here," Shard said swinging around, panting, drops of spit hanging diamond like from his flapping tongue. "Stop here and face them. You can't outrun them."

"He's right," Twang said. "Our only hope is to meet them in battle."

They all turned and stood in a little group in the middle of the clearing, watching the line of dark trees opposite. The wolves had stopped, just in the gloom of the forest, but they were silent now, hovering ghostlike and dark.

They could only see their eyes, bits of moonlight floating in the darkness, drifting like a sea of sinister stars.

Slowly, Peter unsheathed his sword and held it ready, looking into the blade. The moon touched the blood channel with cold fire, seeming to drip from the blade like silver blood, but even in the full blaze of the moon, the steel was dark as the night. He looked at it long and hard, his heart puzzled, _will you ever show me your light?_

He glanced at Edmund and saw that he had also drawn his sword and was looking at him, his face serious and pinched.

"Ready?" Peter asked quietly, letting his hand fall once on Edmund's shoulder.

"Ready," Edmund replied, smiling, though his heart did not.

There was nothing left to do.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I forgot to mention at the end of the last chapter that the tale that the Bear tells Lucy about tails is not something of my devising, but is a traditional American Indian narrative. Now that is clear. As always, thank you so much for all your comments and questions!

~Psyche

**Production Note: **Writing was disrupted today when Captain Jack Sparrow appeared unceremoniously on set. It turns out that the maw of the kraken is a portal into Narnia. Some time was spent directing the good captain to the correct pool in the woods between the worlds.

**Poll:** There is a new one on our profile. Curious to know what _you_ think! Lucy won the last one with Peter and Edmund as runner-ups. ;)


	12. The Worth of a Hero

The Worth of a Hero

* * *

_Heroes take journeys, confront dragons, and discover the treasure of their true selves. _

~ Carol Lynn Pearson

* * *

Like a rolling wave on a beach, the line of wolves burst from the woods, washing across the snow. The companions stood silent, their weapons ready, a little group in the center of the moonlit clearing, their shadows thrown behind them like long, dark cloaks.

"There are more of them than before," Edmund said quietly.

Peter did not reply, he only raised his black sword and Edmund raised his own, watching the rippling forms of the wolves leaping down the length of it. Beside them, Shard sank into a crouch, his eyes gleaming and between them Susan closed her eyes, steadying her breathing.

Then they were upon them.

They did not hesitate, but threw themselves into the air to strike the companions, their heavy bodies sending them stumbling to their knees. Unconsciously, Peter threw himself in front of Susan, sending a wolf flying as he smashed it in the head with his shield.

But they wouldn't die. They stabbed and stabbed again and still the wolves came, blood pouring from their bodies as they washed to and fro like the tide over the crimson stained snow. There was a feeling of hopelessness, like fingers slipping at the edge of a cliff as the realization dawned that the battle was lost.

_We're going to die here. Now. _For a moment, the realization took Susan's breath away. She felt like she was drowning in a great, black sea, but as she stumbled again, she saw the sky, stretching like silver scattered velvet above them. It was silent, calm and clear as crystal.

With a cry, she seized her dagger more firmly, but her fingers were slipping on the blood soaked handle.

It was Lucy, from her position high on Bruinhild's back, who saw the Hawks first. Dark shadows flashed overhead to dive on the oncoming wolves, their long battle cries stabbing the cold air.

Then she saw the Centaurs.

There only three of them, massive creatures; half man, half beast, yet they seemed to be everywhere, their two handed claymores striking in the moonlight like blades of lightning. They were wonderfully beautiful to look at, twisting and rearing; one black, one red and the last silver.

Beneath Lucy, Bruinhild had risen on her hind legs, roaring her battle cry and Lucy clutched the shaggy mane over her shoulders and wondered as she looked down at the twisting, silver coated bodies, whether she was more afraid of the Bear or the Wolves.

She clung to Bruinhild's back, her hands tangled in the mass of fur, but as Bruinhild twisted beneath her, she felt her balance slipping until at last she could hold on no longer. The snow caught her with soft arms as she landed her back, calling to Bruinhild, but the Bear did not hear her. Lucy's weight had been nothing on her great back.

At first the wolves did not notice her and as she struggled to sit up she remembered Eustace once telling her that wolves were color blind. Her red coat would be a shade of gray in their eyes.

"Lucy!" Susan gasped.

Suddenly all the wolves were looking at her.

Peter saw her too and with a flash of her sword he began fighting his way to her. But the wolves were faster; a big gray swung around, his eyes shining, and darted towards her as she climbed to her feet. Her only weapon was an arrow that had fallen out of the quiver on her back and she held it out in front of her like a sword.

"Don't!" she cried, brandishing the arrow.

The wolf sank down; then leapt.

Lucy closed her eyes; the sight of that great, gray creature, its jaws wide, was too much for her and she fell down in the snow, her arms around her head.

And waited.

When she opened her eyes, she saw a little red fox all over the wolf, clawing and growling, his tail twisting as he attacked. The wolf was so taken aback that he sat down, and swatted at it, his expression melting into bewilderment.

One of the Centaurs saw Lucy's coat and turned, but Peter was there first; his sword flashed once and the wolf lay dead. He grabbed Lucy by the hand and pulled her back.

"Lucy!" Susan cried, seizing her hand.

"Is she all right?" Edmund asked quickly.

A low wail echoed from the woods, long and horrible, a cry of heartbreak and sorrow that turned their blood to ice water. They shivered, staring into the darkness; a much greater evil was lurking among the silent trees.

"What is it?" Lucy exclaimed.

"She's sent out the werewolves," One of the Centaurs replied shortly as he swung his claymore.

The wolves were falling back now, their hackles up as they backed away. The defense was too good for them; the three Centaurs had turned the tide. Quite suddenly, Fenris called for a retreat and they melted into the woods.

All was silence.

"That was a near thing," the black Centaur said, wiping the blade of his claymore clean on the coat of a dead wolf and running it back into the sheath on his back.

"We must thank you, sirs," Peter said, looking up at the three Centaurs as they stood around them. "You drove them back."

"The werewolves are coming." Shard said quietly, coming to stand next to them.

"They are still some distance away," one of the Centaurs replied. "We have a few minutes to sort ourselves."

The Centaurs raised their arms as the Hawks descended and the others watched as they landed, talons outstretched.

"Let us introduce ourselves," the black Centaur said, turning to them again. "I am Flavis. The dour looking chap with the red hair is Martin and the aged gentleman is Equus. We have come from Archenland to find you; Chibb warned us that you were on your way."

"We are honored to meet you," Peter said, clasping the outstretched hand Flavis offered. "I'm Peter; these are Edmund, Lucy and Susan."

"You saved our lives," Susan said, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"It was an honor," Equus said quietly.

"Of course we've met Lord Twang," Flavis said, turning to the others.

"This is my cousin Oakheart," Twang explained. "And yonder damsel is Bruinhild; and here is Shard, a friend."

Bruinhild stood protectively over Lucy, her heart smote that she had let her fall.

"Will you ever forgive me?" she had asked.

"Nothing happened!" Lucy said with a laugh.

It was then that the werewolves came.

Edmund saw them first and watched with horror as three creatures, shimmering green, darted out of the dark woods. Their eyes seemed to glow like wraiths' eyes and from their foaming mouths came that wild eerie howl that made the travelers blood run cold. Their heads swung from side to side as they loped as if they could no longer see; their gaits were awkward and shambling, yet there was nothing more fearsome.

Equus lunged forward, the snow churning around his legs as he threw his head back and looked at the werewolves with blazing eyes, "In the name of Aslan!" he called, his voice ringing, "Return to your maker!"

The werewolves came to a halt for a moment, fixing the travelers with their glowing eyes, bright as mirrors. Low growls echoed in their throats, then they turned and melted back into the forest. The travelers could see them still, flickering through the trees, eerie spirits; then they vanished entirely.

"What were they?" Lucy managed at last.

"Werewolves," Martin said shortly, "It is said that their bite makes you go mad gradually until you are a raving lunatic and would kill anyone who would come near you."

Lucy shivered.

"I'm sorry," Martin said quickly, "I should not have said it."

"What did you mean by their 'maker'?" Peter asked hesitantly, as Equus turned back towards them.

"The Witch," Equus replied, "She makes them. All the wolves in her command lose their minds and turn into werewolves. They are very dangerous and she only uses them in most dire need."

"It is very true," Shard said, "Fenris himself is on the verge of becoming one."

"We terry here too long," Martin exclaimed, "They will all return before long. We must hurry to Archenland as quickly as possible."

"Treve!" the broken call came from Flavis where he stood some distance from them. They watched in horror as he collapsed into the snow, reaching out to touch the torn body of a tiny fox.

"Is he still alive?" Susan cried, running to him.

"Treve? Treve, can you hear me?" Flavis leaned closer, cradling Treve's head in his big hand. "You're a hero, do you hear?"

"Let me see!" Susan said, pushing Flavis' hand away. Treve lay in the snow, his throat ripped out, but by the dull gleam of his eyes she saw he was still alive; only just.

Gently she poured the cordial into his mouth and a few seconds later Treve's eyes brightened and he slowly set up.

"Hullo…" he said hesitantly.

"What did you do?" Flavis exclaimed.

"I didn't do anything," Susan said. "It's magic. Father Christmas gave it to me."

Flavis stared at her for a moment, then looked back at Treve, "You crazy pooch! What were you thinking?"

"I only wanted to help," Treve said, cowering.

Flavis reached down and patted him on the head. "You did, my friend, you did."

Martin stamped his hoof, "We _must_ go!"

They started.

The moon was very high now and the woods soon thinned and gave way to more white plains, silver in the flooding moonlight. As they walked, to help everyone stay awake, Peter told all that had befallen them in their journey and before. When he finished, Flavis told their tale.

Shard who slipped along in their shadows, followed up as rearguard. He kept glancing back at the dark shade of the now distant trees. He felt as if they were being followed, and not by wolves.

~o*o~

"Very soon we will arrive at our stopping place for the night," Oakheart said as they walked, "Aetos is a very old faun, he remembers Narnia before the Great Winter, before the Witch, when the slopes were fresh and green and the rivers ran free."

They were in the hills, and in the moonlight they could see the mountains towering higher and higher before them, with a brutal and cruel beauty. They were in the foot hills now, but even here, the cliffs rose around them. They followed Oakheart up a narrow path and when it turned, they saw the glow of lights ahead. Flares burned on either side directing them to an oaken door set in a doorframe carved into the rock. Peter raised the heavy bronze knocker, formed in the shape of a Lion, and pounded the door.

As the door opened with a creak, they saw an aged, gray bearded Faun looking at them curiously; quickly he ushered them in and they found themselves standing in a paneled hall with several doorways leading into large rooms.

"Do you seek lodging for the night?" he asked, peering at them through iron rimmed spectacles.

"Don't you recognize me, Aetos?" Oakheart asked, standing up as tall as he could. Aetos peered at him closely and at last recognition dawned on his face.

"Oh yes! Little Oakheart! You've grown up so quickly!" Aetos laughed. "And the others? I see three Centaurs, three Hawks, two Squirrels, a very young Fox, a white Wolf, a Bear and…" he peered up at Peter, "Four Humans…"

"They are on their way to Archenland," Oakheart said. "And safety."

"Are they coming back? Have they said?" Aetos asked. "But I can question you later, have you eaten?"

"Not yet," Oakheart said. "We were a little busy."

"So you were, so you were," Aetos said, clapping his hands. "Come."

Two young fauns came into the hall and bowed and when Aetos had directed them to prepare dinner for his guests, he lead the travelers into a large dining room and poured them wine.

A chandelier wrought in the shape of leaves and vines was lit and cast golden light and twining shadows down on the long mahogany table. Beautiful tapestries hung on the paneled walls and a large window overlooked a splendid view of moon-washed snowy hills stretching away for miles.

"I remember like it was yesterday," Aetos said as dinner was served and the silver platters were passed around the table. "The dryads leveled the Tree of Protection. Those days were terrible ones for us, not because we were afraid, but because we could only mourn our country. It was heartbreaking to watch her slip away when we could do nothing. In the end, the hand that held the dagger that killed her was her own."

"It must have been terrible," Susan said.

"It was, it was," Aetos said, pouring himself another glass of wine. "But now you are here. I have been waiting for you for such a very long time. Now I am content."

They watched him as he talked. His train of thought no longer seemed to be connected and he rambled on about how the thrones had been built, about summers when dances were held at Dancing Lawn, about Cair Paravel.

At last he looked up and his eyes sharpened as he caught sight of Peter.

"Let me see your arm."

He led them all through to a little white washed room, sweet smelling with herbs and spices and dried flowers in bunches hanging from the ceiling. He inspected Peter's arm, peering at it so closely Peter winced.

"When did this occur?"

"Yesterday."

"You should not have left it untreated so long, wolf bites can be serious. Well, well," he said, muttering quietly to himself as he cleaned the bite and applied a bandage. "I have put witch hazel in here to stop the bleeding and ginger and feverfew to reduce the swelling. It should be well in a few days."

"Thank you." Peter said. "It feels better already."

"I didn't really know what to do," Susan said. "My father is a doctor, but you don't seem to have iodine here."

"Let me give you a satchel of herbs and bandages, you should have them," Aetos said. "Let me show you."

He found a leather satchel and spent a few minutes showing her what he put in it and how to use it; ginger and clove oil for pain, licorice for coughs, Echinacea for colds and flues, passionflower to help sleep…

"Thank you very much," Susan said.

"Now you must sleep, you have far to go tomorrow."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I hope the wolf battle was interesting. I'm incapable of making it too graphic for fear of causing myself to faint (I know that sounds strange). Aetos the faun is a character you all might remember from _Rendezvous with Death_ which is a story we wrote sometime back about the making of the four thrones. You can find it under our stories.

~Psyche

**Production Notes:** The flying horse threw a shoe, now we are completely grounded. Susan is trying to coax it to fly with carrots, because she says she has a blister on her heal. The crew is complaining about having to lug the cameras into the mountains. So far the flying horse has not released a statement.


	13. The Open Door

The Open Door

* * *

_When you're safe at home you wish you were having an adventure; when you're having an adventure you wish you were safe at home. _

~ Thornton Wilder

* * *

Peter was the first to wake the next morning.

He was lying in a big four posted bed and for a moment, as he looked up at the paintings on the walls and saw the dark wood of a highboy next to the window, he thought he was in England again, at the Professor's house. Then he saw the snow in great stretches of white beyond the window and knew that he was still in Narnia.

Narnia.

At the thought a feeling of grief washed over him, immediately followed by a queer feeling of delight. They were still there.

He had slept with his sword. For some strange reason, he didn't want to be parted with it, and groping into the coverlet, he lifted the hilt and drew it near him, half unsheathing the blade.

_Light, _in the old speech.

"Will you ever shine for me?" he asked it quietly, running his thumb along the dark, rippling blade.

Quickly, he pushed it back in the sheath and looked up as a knock came at the door.

"Come in!"

Susan put her head in hesitantly, a shawl around her shoulders, then stepped into the room, quietly closing the door.

"I was just admiring the view," Peter commented, sitting up.

"It's a very nice view," Susan said, sitting down on the bed, pulling her legs up under her nightgown.

"What's wrong?" Peter asked quietly.

She glanced at him, then looked away and he saw tears overflowing her dark eyes to tumble, shining, down her cheeks. He patted her back, not sure of what else to do.

"I was just thinking about Mum and Dad," she said at last. "What do you suppose they're thinking? They'll have heard that we've gone missing by now."

"The professor will explain," Peter said uncertainly.

"And you think they'll believe him?" Susan asked with a little laugh, looking up at him. "They're going to spend the rest of their lives knowing that all their children vanished one day and never turned up… and what about Aunt Alberta and Uncle Harold? Eustace is their reason for living."

"We'll get home again," Peter said, then reached out to pull her towards him. Her head fell to his shoulder and he could smell lavender in her dark hair.

"What if we don't?" Susan asked. "There's some sort of powerful magic that is simply determined to keep us here."

"Yes…" Peter trailed off. "And I think… I _know_… somehow it will turn out all right. It's more than just us, Susan; it's everybody here, the prophecy, the wardrobe. Can't you feel it in your bones? We were meant to do this since even before we were born and now everything has fallen into place perfectly. Sometimes we've got to do things even if it really hurts; we aren't us any more, we're the fulfillment of a prophecy. I really think it will keep going right; after all, we're not dead yet."

"We may soon be."

"Yes," Peter agreed. "But let's try to avoid it. I don't want to die either… I think anything would be better than that."

~o*o~

When Susan finally went back to her own room, Peter climbed out of bed, shivering, to get dressed, then went out into the hallway to see if anyone else was awake. He put his head into Edmund's room and could just see his brother's tousled head and knew that he was still asleep and would sleep until Kingdom Come if allowed.

"Hey Ed! Wake up!" he hollered, then ducked out the door as Edmund threw his pillow.

"Missed!" he called through the wall.

The next door let him into Lucy's room; she was sleeping peacefully and he didn't have the heart to wake her. He knew Edmund would have been incensed by his reasoning.

Grinning, he went down the stairs. He opened the door on the landing and found himself in a beautifully furnished sitting room with a magnificent view down the hillside. He stood gazing out, wondering what it would look like when it was all green, when there was grass growing where the snow was, when there were leaves on the ice laden branches of the trees.

Soon they would leave it all behind and would be safe.

Yet, despite it all, with a feeling of surprise, he realized that he would miss it when he crossed the border into Archenland. It wasn't just the excitement of the place, the bone tingling danger, it was the spirit of the land; somehow it seemed that it had a soul of its own.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Peter turned and saw Aetos standing behind him. In the morning light the faun looked even frailer than before; a tiny, wizened thing with a wispy beard.

"Yes," Peter said. "It's a strange place, but I feel bound to it somehow."

"Of course you do," Aetos said. "Everyone who sets foot in it feels that way. Narnia has a way of consuming until her cause becomes yours. Even Jadis, though her ways are twisted. She came back."

"She has my cousin," Peter said. "It was because of him that we came. We want to find a way to set him free."

"Only Aslan can help you."

"What is Aslan?" Peter asked, turning to him suddenly.

"I would think you would have been told."

"I was told that he created the world and that he lives across the sea," Peter replied. "But, what is he? Is he some sort of Wizard or Necromancer?"

"No, nothing like that, I don't believe anyone knows what he really is," Aetos gazed out the window, seeing, but not seeing. "Not truly. He's too big to see, too deep to comprehend, too wise to understand. He is good; his is a righteous anger and the deepest love."

"How do we know he is good?"

"He created the light, he cannot be darkness," Aetos said. "When he appears he appears in the shape of a lion; he is a lion, but in the same way he is not a lion. He is beast and creator all at once. How, I do not understand."

"I long to meet him," Peter said at last. "But at the same time I fear him."

"No one in his right mind does not fear him," Aetos said. "He is to be feared, but he is also to be loved."

Peter turned to look at him, his brow furrowed with thought, his eyes dark. "Sir, I'm afraid to die."

"Are you afraid of the pain? Or the moment after you are dead?"

"Both, I think." Peter replied. "I don't think I have the courage to face it."

"But you have the will," Aetos said, peering at him over his spectacles. "A young, growing thing like you must be hungry, shall we go have breakfast?"

~o*o~

"I feel like we've been here forever and ever," Lucy commented from her perch on Bruinhild's back.

Susan gazed up at her, a look of pain in her eyes.

Two hours after leaving Aetos' dwelling they were in the hills, trudging up into tortured copses of trees, broken and battered by wind and ice. The wind bit harder here than it ever had lower down; Aetos had given them all woolen cloaks to wear over their coats and they were warmer, but they could still feel the cold biting through them.

As they passed a strange rock formation, they turned to watch with foreboding as dark storm clouds came down and gathered in the skies above them. The whole eastern horizon was glowing with salmon light, running with rivers like tide-streams in the roiling ocean of the sky.

The snowflakes came slowly at first, spiraling down, flashing light, strangely stark against the murky clouds that sank towards them. They fell more and more quickly, twisting, Edmund thought, like goose down after a pillow fight.

The snow filled the air, driving down in a mist, blotting out everything but what was immediately around them. They ducked their heads against the stinging of it, trying not to breath it in and the centaurs turned in a circle to clasp each other's hands; for the air was so thick with snow they could barely see each other.

"This is the Witch's doing, I'll wager," Flavis said, shouting over the wind that was rising around them.

Lucy felt that the wind cut right through her, as if she wasn't wearing her winter coat at all and Edmund, who huddled next to her in the snow, wrapped her in his cloak to keep her warm.

The snow came harder, driving into every corner of their clothing and trickling down their backs as it melted. It made white breastplates on their coats and crowned them with snowy berets. The centaurs could feel the creeping cold on their legs and the rest who huddled in the space between them were completely covered with a heavy blanket of white.

How long it went on like this, none of them knew; it could have been hours or only a few minutes, but each time the storm seemed to tire, it attacked again with renewed vigor. At last with a sigh, as if it were unbearably weary, the wind ceased to blow and the clouds, now spent, began to rise.

It was almost as if someone was lifting the corners of a heavy blanket that had been thrown over them and they began to be able to see farther and farther, until again the mountains of Archenland rose in the cold mist above them.

The centaurs shifted and heavy moulds of snow fell in pieces from the humans as they stood up. It was not damp snow, but very dry and hard packed by the insurmountable force of the wind.

"We must continue on, friends," Martin said, "I have no uncertainty that that was some last ditch attempt by the Witch to keep us from accomplishing our goal. I have little doubt that she has more in store for us."

Almost as soon as he finished talking, they heard the wolves again.

Looking behind them, they saw the wolves rippling out of the woods like liquid silver. They were coming fast, very fast over the snow, hard packed by the blizzard. It was not strong enough to support a centaur, but to the wolves it was like a floor of marble.

"They're awfully close," Lucy said, looking over Edmund's arm.

"By Aslan's grace we can out run them!" Equus exclaimed, half rearing, "Quick, you humans, on our backs!"

The children stared in awe, then, after great urging, struggled onto the broad backs of the Centaurs, all except Lucy, who returned to her place high on Bruinhild's shoulders. They turned and bounded through the snow, much the way a deer bounds over a brook in the woods. Flavis bent down at full gallop and picked up Treve by the tail.

"Sorry," he said, cradling the young fox in the crook of his arm, "it was the only thing handy."

Edmund glanced back and saw the wolves, streaking low to the ground towards them; they were now very close.

"Shall I draw my sword?" he asked.

"No," Martin panted. "It would not aid anyone if you chopped off my head."

"Maybe we can slow them down!" Ergo flapped off Equus's shoulder, "Come on lads, let's show them!"

The three hawks soared into the air, circled once, then closed their wings and drove straight down. The wolves slackened their pace and some stopped entirely for a moment as the hawks attacked, their talons outstretched; they were small, but they could dive with incredible speed. The hawks flipped into the air again, then dashed on the wolves that seemed to be getting too far ahead.

The centaurs plunged on, snow flying in great sheets from their churning legs; then they burst from the ragged, tortured trees and were climbing higher and higher into the crags, their hooves slipping on sheer ice, their breath coming in gasps.

The children looked back as the centaurs mounted a ridge, thundering onto the shoulder of the mountain. Suddenly it seemed that the wolves had reached an invisible wall, a barrier they dared not cross; as one body they slowed and stopped, milling around in the snow, watching as their prey drew farther away.

"We're in Archenland," Equus gasped.

The centaurs swung around and looked back and saw the hawks still bombarding the wolves, swinging through the air like furies.

"Ergo, Jafa, Elah!" Martin bellowed at them, "Come now!"

The three hawks flapped away from the wolves and soared high into the air.

"What are they doing?" Martin asked incredulously as the hawks did a series of flips and rolls, their pinions fluttering, their beaks open in war cries.

"Victory rolls," Flavis said, "Why do hawks always show off?"

Elah, Jafa and Ergo plummeted down and landed on the ground before Martin.

"We sure did it, didn't we?" Elah fluffed up his feathers.

"We sure did!" Jafa said.

"Oh come off it!" Flavis laughed, "Let's get going."

~o*o~

Treve approached his home with a mounting sense of shame. His midnight gallivant had seemed so marvelous and heroic, but now with broad daylight beating down on the ice covered trees he felt that it really wasn't worth it. He didn't feel like counting all the rules he'd broken, _don't be out after dark, don't go more than a mile away without telling, don't go in strangers' houses_… he could go on.

But then he saw his sister Coppel trotting towards him and with a happy bark he broke into a gallop and ran to meet her, shouting news all the way.

"_Where_ have you been?" she asked crossly when he finally stopped for breath. "Half the neighborhood is out looking for you. Did you run away?"

"No, I've been to Narnia!" Treve cried, gallivanting all around her. "There were wolves and children and centaurs and bears and fauns and all sorts of wonderful things!"

"Calm down, you don't know how much you've upset mother," Coppel, for once, felt like the older sister. "Not to mention father."

In the end, when they finally arrived, there were stern looks all around and tearful embraces from his mother. The rest of the wood folk were rather silent, though secretly very glad to see him.

"We return your son to you," Equus said, "We had no knowledge of his coming until he saved the life of one of our companions."

"I'm afraid it was mostly our fault, all the same," Flavis said. "We asked him for directions and he ended coming along. I hope you'll forgive him soon."

"Sir Flavis," Treve's father said. "We are much honored that our son was of service to you and your friends in your enterprise, but we would like to have known about it first."

"We can only apologize," Equus said.

"You will stay for lunch, won't you?" Treve's mother asked.

Since it was impossible to fit centaurs (not to mention the bear) in the burrow, lunch was eaten outside and all the neighbors invited themselves, looking with something close to awe at the four children.

"I think they're afraid of us," Edmund whispered to Susan.

"I think you're right," Susan replied. "But, I wish they weren't."

Then Martin, after muttering with Flavis and Equus for a few minutes, dropped a bombshell.

"Treve has proven himself untrustworthy, but even so we wondered if you would consent to letting him come with us to Cair Anvard and serve as a page. He is old enough to start thinking of leaving his den and thinking for himself. He does not lack in bravery, if common sense."

Both Treve and his parents stood staring at Martin with awe.

"But his education…" Treve's mother began.

"He will be educated," Flavis, said, "I will see to it myself."

"Well, I don't suppose we can refuse," Treve's father said at last.

Treve leapt into the air with all four feet off the ground, "Hooray!"

"Sorry," he added a moment later.

~o*o~

"I'd love to have them for the night," Treve's mother said worriedly.

"We thank you, madam," Martin said. "But we must keep on."

They trudged down from the mountains. There were roads here, packed down for sleighs and walking was much easier. The snow was less and the air was warmer, it didn't burn as they breathed. The snow had mostly come off the trees further down and the whole countryside looked rather dull and uninteresting, except for the little farmhouses they passed on the way.

There were fine little villages and at the very first one, they stopped at the livery stable and Martin rented three horses. They continued on happier after that and though night was falling, they knew that they would be in Anvard, the capital, before very long, but Edmund was so tired he felt that he would drop; his legs ached from riding and the horse he rode was forever stopping and falling asleep.

"Poor excuse for an animal," Martin said grimly, slapping it on the rump.

Snow began falling in big gentle flakes, clumping together because of the warmth of the air. They spiraled down and caught in Lucy's hair as she slept, leaning on Bruinhild's back. They dappled Flavis' black coat and made Treve look like he was going prematurely gray. Shard faded into the whiteness like a ghost.

The lights of Anvard glowed and beckoned them from the crest of a small hill and soon they were walking in the outskirts of the city. They passed glowing windows of houses and saw the brightly lit windows of storefronts, yellow light pooling on the snow that was fast gathering in the cobbled road. They heard soft voices and saw a group of carolers singing quietly at a doorstep. Most of them were squirrels and hedgehogs, only one was human.

Cair Anvard herself stood as the crowning ornament on a hill in the middle of the city. They could see the great walls, painted gold by burning lights and the flags rippling softly in the icy wind that blew from the mountains.

They came to the great arching gate, set deep in the wall between two towers and looked up at the stone carved gargoyles that stared down at them from the ramparts. Torches flared in brackets on the gray stone walls.

"Who goes there?" a voice echoed from the shadows and a centaur with a spear stepped into the pooling yellow light, "Sir Martin! Lord Equus! Sir Flavis!"

"Yes," Flavis replied, "It's just us, will you let us in? It's very cold."

"Of course!" the centaur said and he turned to open the little door set in the gate. They went through, one by one, ducking under the lintel as they came into a great courtyard and saw the tall windows of the Great Hall sending paths of gold across the icy cobbles.

"I'd forgotten," Flavis said, "The fourth feast of Christmastide today."

"In our world, we have Christmas," Susan said, "but why do you celebrate it here?"

"We celebrate the creation of the earth." Flavis said, "There are twelve days of Christmas for every hour Aslan took to create the world. It is a time of giving and thanksgiving."

"Why do you celebrate in the winter time?" Edmund asked.

Flavis paused, "To remember the life of summer."

~o*o~

Lucy was in a half daze when Peter lifted her down from Bruinhild's back, but she remembered the warmth and the echoing of many voices.

Then she saw the lights.

"Have we reached the South Pole?" she asked as the massive carved doors of the Great Hall swung open and the lights danced all around her like a thousand halos. A great spruce stood towering in the middle of the room, its branches glowing with candles and gilded in that light were the tables where a great feast was laid out.

"Yes," Peter whispered as the laughter and the talking suddenly faded. They watched as Martin reared in the middle of the room.

"We have come!"

His voice reverberated around the hall. When the echoes died, several ladies fainted dead away.

King Lune stood from his seat on the dais, his goblet in one hand, the gems set in it flashing light, "Martin! We're very glad you are back, but why does it have to be an event every time you appear?"

Martin stamped his hoof. "We have come!"

"What he means to say is," Flavis said calmly, "We've brought the children."

The silence was complete, then King Lune and the Queen who had been sitting beside him came down from the dais and took the hands of the travelers, bringing them up to sit at the royal table.

"You are most welcome," King Lune said, bowing to the girls and seizing the boy's hands in friendship. "I hope that we may learn you story before long, but now you must be weary. Strike up the music! This is a night for rejoicing."

They had arrived.

They felt strange sitting there as the music leapt up around them and the lights glittered on the wineglasses and the feathers of the swan that rested on a platter at the table, as beautiful in death as in life. And the Queen, Deidre, a winsome thing with wild brown hair swept about her, served them herself. The journey was over and they felt as the orchestra felt, only four parts in a whole, watching eagerly for the next gesture of the conductor.

The conductor? Who _was_ the conductor?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hello all! Welcome again to 'The Once and Future King'. We earnestly hope that you are still enjoying the story and would love to hear from **you **about how you think we're doing. If you have any questions or comments please let us know. You don't have to have an account to leave a review. A delightful Easter to everyone and I really hope we're the only ones getting more snow.

~Psyche

**Production Notes:** We're delighted to announce that permission to move the entire production to Archenland was secured at the last minute. So far we have always been able to write on location and King Lune promises to allow access to Cair Anvard. We're looking forward to continuing our project in a warmer climb.


	14. The Ring of Truth

The Ring of Truth

* * *

_Discussion is an exchange of knowledge; an argument an exchange of ignorance. _

~ Robert Quillen

* * *

Eustace was lying on the floor, his face against the ice, shivering uncontrollably. There was ice everywhere he looked and for some time he could not place where he was. He racked his brain for answers, wondering… wondering.

"Harold?" his voice quavered in the cold, shivering like he did. "Alberta?"

Blue light lay in wide beautiful shafts across the hall, touching the columns of ice. Frost hung like curtains from the windows, more intricate and beautiful than lace, wrought by the hammers of the wind and cooled by the breath of Winter. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

"You are awake, then?"

Jadis was standing a few feet from him, dressed in blue, her dark hair flowing over her white shoulders. She knelt down and put a cold hand on his forehead.

"Come," she said standing again. "The sun will do you good. It is a fine day today. I will show you to your room."

"Wh- what day is it?" Eustace gasped through chattering teeth as he tried to struggle to his feet.

"You have been asleep for several days," she replied calmly, slipping an icy hand under his elbow to steady him. "I have been neglecting my little friend and decided to bring you back. I will expect to you keep me company."

She led him away, down the long, silent halls of white of that strange and wonderful castle. The wind raced down the halls, putting cold lips to the imperfections in the ice and playing soft, haunting and tuneless lullabies to the huddled masses that lived in that place.

Soon, she opened a door and he found himself in a hallway with no ice, only stone walls and to him, they seemed incredibly beautiful.

"Here is your room," she said, opening a door and leading him into a chamber where a fire roared on the hearth. With a slight twist of her hand dinner suddenly appeared on a small table.

"The ambassadors from Calormen are in the next room," she said, walking again to the door. "Do not do anything to disturb them."

"Wait!" Eustace said quickly, just before she closed the door.

She turned quietly to look at him.

"Why are you doing this?" Eustace asked at last. "Why are you keeping me?"

"Don't you see?" The Witch asked quietly, "You're part of my collection now… you're like a bug pinned to a card and labeled. How are you enjoying it?"

* * *

The Narnian Council met in a high chamber with a vaulted roof and round windows set high on the wall, so high no one could really see out (Lucy often wondered if that was the real reason they were all so cross and quarrelsome). The room was bare except for the table and a few iron lampstands; it was a cold, unfriendly place.

They saw it first the day after they arrived, when they were still rubbing sleep from their eyes. Martin and Flavis led the way down a long hallway, then opened a door, leading the four of them into the chamber. The room they found themselves in was large and many creatures were seated at a long table down the center of it. They were all talking and the sound of angry voices was near deafening. The only persons they recognized were King Lune, who sat silent at the foot of the table and Equus, who stood.

"Who are they all?" Peter asked, standing frozen on the top of the steps that led down into the room, the others beside him.

"Which ones?" Flavis asked.

"Any of them."

"The ones that will be on your side are on the right side of the table, the centaurs, Twang of course, Darcy, the black leopard, the phoenix, Lord Peridan, Lords Ron and Ronin and Lord Paladin, Peridan's uncle. The chaps against you are the other ten; the chap in purple ought to be the court jester instead of a lord. They are cantref lords; each was once a king in his own right in Narnia, now they have nothing but their tempers."

"How did they become lords of the counsel?" Edmund asked.

"Born into it, they are all warlords and each commands at least a hundred spears," Flavis said. While he spoke, he led them down to four empty chairs and they sat down unnoticed, while the two centaurs stood behind them, their arms crossed, their faces grim. King Lune leaned across the table to them.

"Welcome to the fun," he said grimly.

"Martin may talk as much as he likes, it will never work!" a man from next to Peter roared. "I will not lead a war band to be slaughtered if I do not know I will be supported!"

"Pryderi, he was the lord of Cymru," Martin leaned down to whisper in Peter's ear. "That land once lay in the west of Narnia, in the place where the lamppost stands."

"The Narnian clans will never be united," another man exclaimed, "King Xenon was a great man, but Xenon is dead. Loth and his brother Urien and the Mormaers of Ettinsmoor are cut off from us by the Witch. We cannot unite against her. We have enough trouble trying to protect Archenland from the Witch, how can we think of taking Narnia again? Before long, Archenland, too, will fall. We have not the strength to defeat the Witch and her horde. Our fathers should have sailed to find a new homeland when she came."

"Bar, Lord of Kernow," Martin informed Peter. "That was the south of Narnia."

Pryderi jumped to his feet, "Yes, defeating the Witch! But what were you doing trying to negotiate with the Tisroc; surely he is as great an enemy as the Witch herself."

"They're just like little children," Susan said quietly.

"Yes!" Lucy giggled, "I think we're more grown up than they are."

"Do something, Peter."

"They'll never listen to me," Peter replied.

"You can try," Edmund said. Peter glanced at him, but his brother's face was unreadable. "They are so caught up in their own selfishness; they can't see their own doom."

"Do you dare call me a traitor? Impudent whelp!" Bar was on his feet now, his fist on the hilt of his sword.

"Silence both of you," King Lune's voice cut the tension, "There will be no shouting in my house. I asked you to gather here together so we could discuss the defeating of the Witch. Already she is making moves to attack Archenland."

"That is your affair," Bar said. "The men of Kernow will have no part of it. If Archenland falls, we will hold fast."

Peter glanced at his sisters and brother again. They were all watching him eagerly, complete trust in their eyes; _this _was why they had come. Peter could bear it no longer, slowly he stood.

"May I say something?"

His voice was drowned in the shouting that had started yet again.

"May I speak?!" Peter yelled; they still ignored him. Doggedly, he clambered up on the table and swept the room with his gaze, locking eyes with several people who sat below him.

"Shut up!" he bellowed.

At last, the shouting died to a murmur, then was snuffed out entirely. Angry gazes turned to him, but they were silent.

"I've not been here very long," Peter began. "But it seems to me that if Archenland falls, Kernow will fall, Cymru will fall and Narnia herself will be lost!"

Peter took a deep breath and calmed himself. He rarely lost his temper and he was half ashamed of it, but he had started and he had to finish. He caught the eyes of his sisters and brother as he stalked down the length of the table and drew new courage from their gaze.

"Where can we go that she will not follow?" Peter asked, meeting eyes with each lord as he turned, "I see that her hand reaches even here. I have studied maps and seen that she holds Ettinsmoor in her fist, Telmar was lost years ago, she has taken the islands. Archenland is the last stand."

Lord Bar started to speak, but Peter wasn't finished yet.

"If the Witch overruns us, she will drive us into the sea." Under his gaze, Lord Bard sank back into his chair. "You _have_ nowhere else to go. We can't just sit here and let it happen. I have no power over you, but I will fight the Witch to my dying day."

At last Peter was silent, bracing himself for the replies.

"You are insolent, boy," Bar said, his voice dangerously low.

"He may be insolent, but he's right," a dark haired man said quietly from the end of the table. It was Peridan, cantref lord, "He's right," he continued, "but men must have a leader and we have none that would serve."

"Would you follow the ones from the prophecy?" Equus asked suddenly from his place at the other end of the room.

"I am beginning to think that it is a pack of fairy tales," Lord Paladin spoke for the first time. "We have waited a hundred years and they have not come."

"We have waited a hundred years," Martin agreed, stamping his hoof on the stone floor, "but those from the prophecy are in Archenland at this moment."

"You jest!"

"I am not in the habit of jesting!" Martin replied, the vain throbbing in his neck; he let his hand fall on Peter's shoulder, "We brought them yesterday, do you not remember? This is Peter, the true High King of Narnia."

A murmur went down the table.

"He's a child," Paladin said, curtly.

"They are the fulfillment of the prophecy." Equus said and the room was silent. "I have watched the stars all my life. The time is now."

"If Equus says they're it, then they're it," Paladin said at last.

"I am not so easily convinced!" Bar exclaimed. "How can you prove who you are?"

"Show them your sword, Peter," Edmund whispered, nudging him.

Peter stood and drew his sword, the dull light dancing down the blade and burning in the ruby set in the hilt. A soft gasp of admiration rippled down the table as the lords, like one body, leaned forward to have a better look.

"This sword was given me by Father Christmas our first night in this world; look at it carefully."

He handed it to King Lune. The King gazed at it, running his hand lovingly down the sheath as he half drew it, gazing at the blade. The sword passed from hand to hand down the table, the murmurs of excitement growing louder.

"It is the sword of King Gale, of conquerors and kings, a sword of justice."

"A replica?"

"Nay, this is the sword."

"I have never seen finer craftsmanship, feel the balance and weight!"

"Stolen perhaps?"

"Surely you all remember the story of that sword," Equus said. "Or shall I tell it to you again? It vanished in the days of King Gwithor, taken away to Aslan's country, to return one day in Narnia's greatest need, wielded by a warrior and King. Have you forgotten?"

"Then we rally around children?" Bar asked as the sword returned to Peter. "What are you boy? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

"I am seventeen."

"A child." Bar said, "What experience has he got? None! The place of the High King of Narnia must be held by a man of age and experience, not a beardless boy!"

"The prophecy spoke of them," Equus spoke. "We cannot change tradition."

"Tradition! In a time like this!" Bar rolled his eyes toward heaven. "You and your precedent! You and your tradition! What are you thinking? This is not a time for rules!"

"Now more than ever is a time for tradition," Lord Paladin said, "Traditionally, Narnia has been united. If we do not follow our traditions, Narnia will fall apart more than ever. We cannot unite if we cannot rely on each other."

"Under Xenon!"

"And why can we not be united again?"

Lord Peridan rose. He was young, not much older than Peter himself, but his hair was already beginning to gray.

"My uncle is right," he said, "We must unite and we must unite under those spoken of in the prophecy. Who else? A choice of another would cause war between the cantrefs of Narnia. They are young, it's true, but we need a focal point, a center. How else can we defeat the Witch? Up till now, we have been fighting like a serpent with many heads, dangerous, but all pulling in separate directions. I say we crown them our monarchs."

"They cannot be crowned but the halls of Cair Paravel herself," Equus said.

Peridan turned to Peter, "Then in the meantime, will you lead us?"

"We are strangers, not from any of the clans; we can show no partiality." Peter said. "We will do our best, it's why we're here, after all. But I must tell you now that none of us intend to be kings or queens after all this is done."

"I will swear you my allegiance," Peridan said. The next moment, he was kneeling before them, his forehead to the shining hilt of his sword.

"I, Lord Peridan,do swear on my sword that I will faithfully serve you as my sovereign lords and pledge my lands, possessions, life and sacred honor to your cause."

~o*o~

"Your majesties?"

An hour after the council let out the four of them went out on the castle walls to look down at the city. At the voice, they all turned to see Lord Paladin coming towards them. The lord was middle aged, his hair graying, his eyes green flecked. He had the appearance of a wolf, always watching, always wary.

"Lord Paladin," Peter said, turning to him. "_Please_ don't call us that."

"I wish to congratulate you," Lord Paladin said, brushing away his protests as he bowed before them. "You behaved impressively. You did not let them bully you and you now have their respect."

"Thank you, sir," Peter said.

Paladin inclined his head, "If I may make so bold, I would be honored if you told me your story."

Peter told it as briefly as he could, the others adding a few things here and there. When he had finished Lord Paladin looked over at them, for he had been looking over the city during the story.

"It is well told, sire," He said, "Truly remarkable."

"Tell us your story." Peter said.

"My story? or the story of my family?"

"Perhaps both."

"Very well," Lord Paladin said slowly, then began: "Our line is very old, descending from King Frank the first king of Narnia's youngest son who married a dryad. Our family was very well established when Stormrunner, Equus's grandfather, prophesied that four thrones must be built in Cair Paravel. The king, Xenon, was a great king for several years though he was very young, then he changed and refused to build the thrones. It was that year that the tree of protection between Narnia and the western wilds blew down and Stormrunner ceased to pester the king and built the thrones himself from the wood of the tree.

"Jadis, the Witch, had already taken Telmar, the country just to the west of Narnia, and she invaded Narnia too. My father was nearly killed in the fighting that followed and my mother, sweet lady that she was, tended his wounds and helped him escape to Archenland. Others were not so fortunate; a quarter of the humans that lived in Narnia was killed and a quarter was turned to stone.

"Kind King Cor of Archenland, grandfather of King Lune, gladly took in the Narnians that escaped. My father and mother were married and my older brother was born, then I. My father died young and my brother sat in his place in the great Narnian counsel. They decided that I too should sit with them, because they were lacking one member. Those were the days when the counsel was sane! My brother and his wife died three years ago of an illness, leaving behind their infant son Baeth, Peridan and their daughter, Clyte. I myself have never married and I will strive to raise Baeth as my own. Then it is as you see us now, hoping, watching and waiting."

Peter turned back towards the city, "We mean to help all we can."

"We hope you will."

* * *

**Author's Note:** The question, for us, always is: Peter was High King of what? In olden days in England, the place was split up into many little kingdoms, Cymru (Wales), Kernow (Cornwall), Kent and Lothian just to name a few. Over all these little kings sometimes reigned one big king, a High King (the historical King Arthur for example). In Wales itself there was a High King over many cantref lords (kings). The setup was complicated and troublesome and it took many years before the Earls no longer held the rank of king and all swore their allegiance to the High King. So our question is, how did the Narnian government work? Did Susan, Lucy and Edmund reign over different parts of Narnia and Peter reign over it all, or did they form a sort of executive council with Peter as president? If you have any ideas, let us know.

We have a major amount of PMs to reply to, just letting you know we haven't forgotten and will write back soon! :)

Thanks to Imaginatrix for the production note idea ;)

~Rose and Psyche

**Production Notes:** The TrevelyanTM Plush is now available for pre-order for the low, low price of ₤19.99. The box set includes _Heroic Bedtime Stories_ by Rose and Psyche and a Replica Ice CaveTM that can be set up in your living room (batteries not included).


	15. Second Glances

Second Glances

* * *

_ Of all Sad Words of Tongue or Pen, the Saddest are these, "It Might Have Been."_

~ George Ade

* * *

Cair Anvard was a simply beautiful place.

In their first few days there, they wandered the rooms, admiring the tapestries, the suits of armor, the paintings so large that when they looked at them they felt they were about to fall into them.

The twelve days of Christmas were slipping past, every night ending in a feast and dancing that often turned wild when Lucy was there. Lucy and Susan spent a good deal of their time with Queen Diedre getting measured for dresses and even helping a little with the sewing.

"Girl stuff," Edmund muttered.

He was standing with Peter in a particularly long gallery, looking up at the statues and great paintings and ornate tables with flower arrangements. It almost reminded them of England and the British Museum in London. As Edmund turned to look down the hall, he could almost hear the sounds of familiar and dear voices; could almost see his mother looking up at the paintings and commenting on them, could almost see his father's smile.

"What is?" Peter asked, he was looking up at a seated bronze of a bearded man. He was a boxer; his hands were relaxed now, great, sinewy hands, bound with rock-hard leather straps. Their eyes ran up his knotted arms to rest on his scarred and haggard face. What mortal man had the look of desperate courage that matched the face of this weary, steadfast warrior?

"Nothing," Edmund said, shaking himself, almost guilty that he had been thinking of such trivial matters as he looked up into the face of the bronze. "Peter?"

"Hm?"

"There's something strange about Lord Bar."

"Hm."

"He has shifty eyes and he's _hiding _something… honestly. I don't think he's to be trusted."

They moved on to the next statue, a reclining man carved of marble. He was not relaxed; his shoulders seemed to be shaking with effort, his head bowed, as he strove to raise himself from the ground. His had been stabbed, his lung punctured, and as they looked up into his face, the pain there driving to their hearts, they knew that he was dying.

"Maybe you should tell the king." Peter said, then reached up to touch a ornament around the dying statue's neck, fashioned of twisting strands of marble, ending with simple circles against his throat. "What do you think this is? I feel like I've seen something like it before."

"I think it's called a torc," Edmund said. "And I told the king."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing much yet."

"Maybe you should tell him again." Peter said absently

"I think Lord Bar is not to be trusted."

"You just told me that; I said you should tell the king."

"I'm telling the king!"

"Edmund," Peter said very slowly, turning around. "I'm not the king."

"You are."

"I beg to differ."

"So do I."

"Dash it all, Edmund!" Peter exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "You know how I feel on the subject."

"You could do it, Peter," Edmund said earnestly. "You really could."

Peter rolled his eyes and it very nearly turned into a tussle then and there, except that Edmund mentioned that the tables looked precarious and the vases might fall on the floor, so they settled for shoving each other a few times.

"Peter, I've been thinking," Edmund said at last.

"Don't think, Edmund, if it has something to do with me being a king," Peter said, putting his arm around his brother's neck and leaning on him.

"This doesn't have anything to do with that, actually," Edmund said, squirming free.

"Doesn't it?" Peter asked. "Spit it out, then."

"Do you think this army… enterprise… invasion… idea… has any spies?"

"What do you mean?" Peter asked. "I would imagine the Narnians have spies… trees maybe."

"The trees are asleep," Edmund pointed out. "No; I mean spies, real ones, actually _in_ the Witch's house. We might learn something we never thought we needed to know."

"Talk to Shard," Peter said suddenly. "You might have something. We should probably contact the Narnian Underground too, tell them what we're doing."

* * *

Loki was in the barracks, the stables actually. It was a dark place and cold. The castle repelled him, the dark creatures, Minotaurs, slithering dragons, the werewolves, the dark evil smell, the Witch herself and his own father, Fenris, the Captain of the Secret Police. The only things right were the Witch's horses.

Loki had never known his mother; he had never heard of her and knew that he wouldn't have existed if it hadn't been for Shard.

Shard.

His uncle, the one that had taught him everything, cared for him and yes, even loved him. It had been that night when Shard left; Loki remembered seeing him, seeing the centaurs and even the four children. He had wanted to go with them, but he never could have. He didn't have the endurance or the speed of his uncle. It had torn what was left of his heart in two when he saw his only friend and protector leave him, perhaps forever.

Loki lay in the mud in the barracks and watched the light glitter on the dark eyes of the rats. It was night, time for sleep; but he couldn't sleep.

The white mare was sleeping above him in her stall. He could just see her head, ghostly white in the darkness. The stallion was awake, pacing his restlessly, the rustling of straw twining the air. Loki could feel his impatience, the need to walk; so he rose and went up the stairs and out the door.

He went to the throne room. He felt drawn to it somehow. It was the statue, the one on the stairs. He slipped across the huge floor, feeling the cold drafts brushing through his coat as he rippled through the long shafts of moonlight.

The statue was gone.

A twang of sorrow tugged at Loki's heart as he looked at the place where it had been. It had been a new statue, with the face twisted by horror and guilt. The expression had stabbed Loki deep.

~o*o~

It wasn't until the next night when Loki was on the prowl, that he heard the crying. It was coming from the warm part of the castle, the part upstairs where the Witch stashed her guests when some happened to call.

Loki decided to investigate, slipping through the blue shadows along the wall, his ears pricked for the sounds. He stopped; sinking down into the corner as a minotaur came trudging down the hallway on his nightly inspection.

He must have fallen asleep there, his head on his paws, his mind in another place, free in his dreams as it was never free in the day. He dreamed of his uncle, of Shard, coming back to rescue him from that terrible life he lead. It was warm in Archlenland, they didn't have this cold that cut even through a wolf's coat.

It was nearly midnight.

Loki woke suddenly, a shivering feeling of being watched scampering down his back. His yellow eyes opened a crack, like twin moons hovering in the darkness.

A boy was standing a few feet from him, looking up at the tall, icy window that opened to the stars in the night sky. Loki had never seen a human that close before, except in stone form and he lay there, looking up at him, wondering at his bare feet and pale hair that gleamed dully in the dark.

"You're the statue… aren't you?" he said at last.

The boy jumped and turned to look at him, fear in his eyes. Slowly, Loki rose to his feet, showing himself in the moonlight.

"_Canis lupus_," the boy said mechanically.

"I beg your pardon?" Loki said hesitantly.

"You're a wolf," the boy replied, then suddenly stuck out his hand. "I'm Eustace Clarence Scrubb, formally of Oxford."

Loki shrank from his outstretched hand and Eustace hurriedly shoved it away in his pocket. "Sorry… I forgot, you know, paws; you can't shake hands."

"Why are you here?" Loki burst out.

"I can't leave," Eustace said simply. "I just can't. Sometimes I want to… sometimes I _really_ want to, then I feel like I don't want to. I can't make up my mind… my mind has run away. If you should see it hanging around, let me know."

Loki glanced around warily as if expecting to see a loose brain sitting on the floor.

Suddenly Eustace's expression changed and turned sour. "I have a headache. Go away; I don't want you to look at me."

~o*o~

Loki did not sleep that night. The horror of seeing the boy who had been the statue had been too much. He lay awake, longing for comfort, longing to see just one honestly beautiful good thing. It seemed forever before the sergeant came down and Loki's watch went up.

After an hour in the throne room, they went on a routine patrol of the castle grounds. Though Loki's muscles were hard he had a terrible time keeping up with the fierce pace of the other wolves. Fenris had put him with them just to see him snap.

Suddenly something white leapt out of the shadows and pinned him to the ground. Loki struggled, but made no sound.

"Meet me at the cave, tonight."

It was Shard.

Shard let him up and Loki streaked after the other wolves, there had been no time to respond. When he looked back Shard was gone without a trace.

It was only that night that Loki could go.

The day was filled with maneuvers and grueling exercises. Only the night was his own. He could leave the castle, sleep, chase his tail, kill himself, no one cared. Just as long as he was there the next morning.

Loki lay in the mud in the stables. There was moonlight that night and it glowed through the little window high in the wall. The white mare was asleep again in the back of her stall.

As usual, the stallion was awake and pacing. Loki looked up, seeing the stallion's smooth white back, moving in the moonlight; arching neck, high withers, hollow back and croup, then around again. Loki always wondered if either of the horses had names. If they did, no one knew them, they were simply the horses.

The stallion paused in his walk and thrust his head over the door of the stall. His ears pricked at some unknown sound and his shock of creamy white forelock tumbled over his dark, intelligent eyes. Horses seemed so wise somehow. Wise, lonely and pained.

Loki shifted onto his side. The stallion never failed to remind him of the day the horses escaped. They had gone after them and Loki remembered them, galloping in one mad dash over the snow, just the two of them. He remembered the snow churned by their flying legs, their flared nostrils, their wide, white rimmed eyes.

They signified something Loki had never known before, but he felt it within him as he watched them. It seemed both terrible and wonderful to him that they would stake everything in that one foolhardy dash across the snow; to something they knew and longed for. They would risk their lives for it and die gladly, their blood soaking into the snow. They were, of course, at last overtaken; the wolves held them at bay and the minotaurs roped them and threw them to the ground.

Afterwards Loki asked Shard what it was they wanted, what they had risked everything for.

Shard had looked at him, light gleaming in his eyes.

"Freedom," he said at last. "They would rather die escaping to freedom then live slaves in the Witch's house."

"Isn't that blasphemous?" Loki had asked, horror in his voice.

"What do you think?" Shard asked, his head cocked.

Loki had never felt the same about life since then, all he had ever known was captivity. The new idea of freedom frightened him and thrilled him. He longed for it, more than he had ever longed before.

The night guards did not question him as he went out the castle gates into the night. The cave Shard had mentioned was an old secret between them. Shard had found it when he was a puppy and Loki was the only creature he had ever told. Half in fear, half in excitement, Loki slipped into the dark crack that marked the entrance.

"Loki?" the familiar voice filtered towards him.

"Shard, sir?" Loki quavered. "You've come back?"

Shard chuckled, "Yes, I have, but I must leave again. I have important work for you to do. You must decide yourself if you will do it. It will be dangerous."

"I'll do it." Loki said.

"Wait until you hear what it is, Loki." Shard said. "The four children are in Archenland now, you've seen them yourself. They want you to be a spy for them."

"A spy?" Loki asked.

"It's dangerous Loki."

"I'll do it."

"I knew you would."

* * *

Brant found relief in work. He found relief in watching the sparks fly; watching the piece of glowing metal turn into something beautiful, alive.

He plunged the dagger into a trough of water and saw the light in its heart quench under the billows of steam. It was something… nothing; just a little thing for his son, Rhett.

He held the dagger up, saw it, rough, unfinished, yet full of life. He dropped it on his bench and wiped is hands on a rag, turning. He caught sight of something dark, a shadow crouching in the doorway and watched while it rose and stalked towards him with golden eyes, dark gleaming body like black velvet and silken paws on the dirt floor that was blackened with soot and age.

"Lord Darcy," Brant said.

"It is I," Lord Darcy crouched again, his eyes half closed. "The children from the prophecy are in Archenland."

"We have heard."

Darcy purred, "They have sent me to you with orders."

"What do they wish me to do?" Brant asked. "If it is for the good of Narnia then I will do it."

"It is for Narnia," Darcy purred. "They wish you to arm Narnia. Make weapons, armor and distribute it secretly. Enlist the help of the other smithies in Narnia and do not fail them. The great prophet Equus has said that they will invade by next spring."

"There is a spy in the Witch's castle that will be working for Narnia. He will report to you and you will deliver his reports to a messenger that we will send every week. The spy is a young wolf named Loki. Your password is this: 'when Aslan shakes his mane it will be spring again.'" Darcy stretched. "Now a personal warning, learn this spy before you trust him. Wolves are sly."

Brant picked up the half-made dagger with tongs and thrust it back in the fire.

"You will do it, then?" Darcy asked.

"I take orders from no man." Brant said stubbornly, but from the square of his stocky shoulders, he would do it.

* * *

The council chamber was all a-murmer when the first dispatch arrived from the Great River Smithy.

"And it was all your idea," Peter had to remind Edmund as the four of them sat at the table.

Martin held up a thin roll of paper, "Flavis, will you read?"

Flavis took it, drew a deep breath and held up the scroll.

"To his majesty, King Edmund, from his loyal servant, Brant, chief smith of the Great River smithy, greetings:

"Sire, your orders are being faithfully carried out. No smithies in Narnia have been quiet, night or day, and great hope has been inspired in the hearts of all Narnians. The spy, Loki, has made his report. It is enclosed."

Flavis dropped that page on the table and took up another one.

"Greetings from Loki. It is my great honor to serve you in any way I can. I have had the great fortune of meeting your cousin-"

"Eustace!" Peter exclaimed. "Then she hasn't killed him!"

"Poor Eustace!" Susan gasped.

Flavis looked up, "Shall I continue?"

"Yes of course."

"He appears to be in good health, but in a strange state of mind. Now for news. There is an ambassador from Calormen at the present time. I have not told Eustace what I am doing for you, but sometimes he is in an amiable mood and tells me some of the things he has heard. Though invading Archenland is never mentioned, it seems to be the general understanding. Eustace finds the negotiations most educational. My feeling is that the ambassador will not remain long, as he finds the werewolves most bothersome."

It may have been extremely serious, but no one, except Martin, could refrain from laughing after Flavis had finished.

"The Calormens are negotiating with the Witch?" Peter said. "That means something's going to happen soon."

"They have been trying to take over Archenland for years, sire." Flavis said. "They've been wanting Narnia too."

"I think we should send a spy to Calormen and see what their intentions are," Edmund said. "Have you any suggestions on who it would be?"

"Sire," Sallowpad croaked, "Send me, no one notices a raven."

Edmund looked at Peter and Peter nodded.

"Very well," Edmund said. "We'll send you."

~o*o~

"What are you thinking about?" Edmund asked that evening as he oiled his sword in front of the fireplace, the ring on his thumb gleaming silver-white. Susan was sewing, bending close so she could see the tiny stitches. Lucy watched sleepily as the soft thread whispered silently through the fabric and the needle flashed.

"Eustace," Peter said from beside him, running an oily cloth down the length of his own blade. He let his fingers linger over the writing driven deep in the stone gray steel, feeling the lines. _Would it ever show him its light?_

They listened to the crackling of the fire as the logs turned to black ash and fell in geysers of sparks that shot towards the flu.

"I wonder if we'll ever get him back again," Edmund said at last. "I always wonder whether things might have gone differently had we been different."

"I doubt it," Peter said. "It's more likely he might have gone differently if his parents had raised him differently."

"We weren't exactly nice to him ourselves," Susan pointed out quietly. Edmund looked down.

"We didn't understand what he was really like, what he needed; I don't think we could ever have given him what he needed." Peter said. "But if I could somehow go back in time, I would do it differently. I think maybe Susan was the only one of us who was really nice to him."

"We, none of us, treated him as we ought to have," Susan replied.

"At first I hated him for what he was; he's the sort of person who dared us to do pointless things, like licking our elbows, or walking boardwalk fences, but never tried doing the stuff himself." Edmund said. "I couldn't even stand to look at him once. I despised him for being little and vindictive, childish and arrogant. Then I forgave him."

Peter looked up and Edmund met his gaze.

"And I set a prisoner free," Edmund continued. "And I realized that the prisoner was me."

"It must be awful for him." Lucy said, "I lay awake at night thinking how terrible it must be. I wish I could see him again and say how sorry I am it happened. Do you think we _will_ see him again?"

"Honesty," Peter paused, "I don't."

There was silence.

"This is a magical land…" Edmund said, "I wish we could all go back in time, just for a bit."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I apologize if this chapter seemed choppy and badly put together. It was a hasty job done back when I was first reassembling this story that never was fixed. Hopefully the next chapter will make up for it.

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Treve came into our office today in tears. He says that he's insulted that we would sell him in a plush version. We pointed out that we own the rights to his character. In order to appease him, we'll be releasing a TreveTM Action Figure. The LokiTM Plush and Action Figure will be available as well.


	16. The Shadows of the Night

The Shadows of the Night

* * *

_Masquerade! Paper faces on parade…Hide your face, so the world will never find you! … Every face a different shade...there's another mask behind you!…Fool and king...Trace of rouge. Face of beast…True is false. Who is who? Curl of lip. Swirl of gown. Masquerade! Seething shadows, breathing lies. Masquerade…Run and hide – but a face will still pursue you._

~ Andrew Lloyd Webber

* * *

The tinkling of ice sheathed branches shimmered in the cool air when the silence was broken by a stag leaping through the ice encrusted underbrush in wild bounds. His head was thrown back to keep his antlers from catching in the branches of the trees and his eyes were dark with fear. The tawny coat shivered as thorns raked it and the white tail flashed, warning of the danger. Then he was gone and only mounds of overturned earth marked where his hooves had churned the snow covered forest floor.

Silence fell again, broken only by the loud, insistent call of the little gray chickadee that had watched the stag leap by. The wind blew again and a wave of chiming music washed through the air as the branches rang against each other.

The note of the hounds' voices came a little later, echoing like church bells in the stillness. They burst into the clearing in a frenzy of dogginess, noses to the ground, sobbing in their excitement. They cast around, tails whipping, then opened and burst forward again, hot on the trail of the stag.

The first rider to follow was a King Lune, mounted on a liver chestnut with mane and tail streaming in the wind like the ears of the hounds. Peter followed, his great black horse snorting as he waited for Edmund, Susan and Lucy. Manes rippled and harnesses jingled, bright in the shadowed whiteness of the forest.

The hounds were spotted and a horn was blown, clear and strong, reaching the laid back ears of the stag as he leapt into the rushing current of an icy stream and fought to the other side, foam flying and sunlight catching jewels as the water leapt about him. He had the opposite bank and charged up it, muscles rippling under his sunlit hide, antlers flashing and great heart throbbing deep in the pith of him.

The wind shifted, chasing him and the hounds came to a halt, casting this way and that along the bank of the stream, howling in their disapproval of the stag. At last, the hounds followed, leaping into the water one after another, panting and gasping, paws paddling as they made for the opposite side. The dogs were strong, but the current was stronger and they made the bank far down stream. Again they cast around, but the scent was gone, gone as the stag that still raced more than a mile away through the dappled forests of Archenland.

_No less like an emperor he stands,_

_holding giant crown on noble head,_

_tail upraised, flashing white - coat a rusty red_

_Antlers jagged, each point gleaming_

_Crown of glory…_

_Unexpected sound, He's fleeing._

The hunters drew rein on the other bank, their mounts snorting and arching their necks, pawing the melting snow underfoot.

"It seems our quarry has eluded us yet again," King Lune said with a laugh.

"My fault," Lucy said, reaching forward to pat the gray neck of her mare, "If I only hadn't fallen off-"

"Nonsense," King Lune said turning his horse around. "Everybody falls off once and a while and you are doing marvelously well for a beginner. You all are."

They had been there almost a month, though it seemed like a year of bright images blurred before their eyes. They had met more people then they cared to count, spoken until they were hoarse and slowly, inexorably, became what other people thought they saw.

Now, as they called the dogs and turned back towards Cair Anvard it was the New Year. December had given way to January, the two faced god of ancient lore looking into the past and into the future. The present was the point at which time touched eternity and they looked forward now, never back… never back.

Queen Deidre was in the courtyard when they came back; waving as they drew their snorting horses in and dismounted. She wore a loose dress and now all knew that she was with child. There was rejoicing all around, only Deidre did not rejoice because she loved to ride and King Lune had ordered her not to.

"What on earth has happened?" Lucy cried as she swung from her horse and ran to her.

"You'll find out," Deidre said, taking Lucy's hand and dragging her inside.

"Today," she declared, as she ascended the stairs, "Is Twelfth Night!"

"Well, yes, I _know_ that." Lucy said, trotting after.

"Tonight is the night of the masque." Deidre said.

"The what?" Lucy asked.

"It's a masquerade ball!" Susan exclaimed as she caught them up.

"It's the biggest ball of Christmas," Deidre added.

"A masquerade?" Lucy exclaimed, "Does that mean we get to dress up?"

"It does," Deidre said, laughing, "I hope you don't mind, but I've taken the liberty of choosing your costumes."

~o*o~

Lucy stared at herself in the mirror and realized with a shock that she didn't even recognize herself. The dress, she decided, must have taken Deidre and her laides hours to make. It was heavy blue brocade, embroidered with silver thread and accented with silver lace and feathers. A pair of wings were on her shoulders and a heavily decorated mask with elaborate beak was in her hand. In the other hand she held a huge blue feathered fan. Her hair, she giggled to see, had been coaxed into ringlets and powdered blue.

Her face didn't even look right. Her eyebrows had been blocked out and redrawn in high, dark arches and her mouth was impossibly heart shaped and red. Dark lines curled from the corners of her eyes.

Laughing, she turned to look at Susan. The maid was still painting her face.

Susan wore a splendid white dress scrolled with silver embroidery. Her hair had been powdered white, her face painted with white makeup. She, too, had wings on her back.

"I don't think I really look much like a swan," Susan said, staring at herself.

"Oh, yes you do!" Lucy said, jumping up in the air.

"Are you trying to fly, bluebird?" Susan asked, smiling at Lucy in the mirror.

A knock came at the door and Deidre entered. Susan and Lucy both turned to look at her.

Deidre was a peacock. She wore a dress of green and blue and a fan of peacock feathers had been fixed to the back of her dress and quavered above her head. She held up her mask and eyed them through it.

"Why," she said, "I do believe two birds have flown through the window."

"And another has come to join them," Susan said, smiling, "the costumes are simply splendid. Thank you so much!"

"You _look_ splendid," Deidre replied. "Shall we proceed to the Great Hall?"

"Of course," Susan said standing and attempting not to trip on her voluminous skirt.

Lucy was nervous; nervous and terribly excited. Everybody would be in costume. She wondered how Edmund and Peter would look. The walk down the hallways seemed too long and she could hardly contain her laughter.

"We look so funny!" Lucy cried happily.

"I think we look uncommonly nice," Susan said. "They are _such_ lovely dresses."

They turned another corner and there before them the great oaken doors of the Great Hall stood open. The doormen bowed, smiling and they smiled back as they swept into the room.

"How lovely!" Lucy cried.

Lovely indeed.

The Great Hall had been decorated for nearly a month with the evergreen, holly, mistletoe, bells and garlands of Christmastide. The Yule log still burned in the massive fireplace and the place was lit by the flickering light of the chandeliers.

Everywhere was a blaze of color. The room was brilliant with cascades of gold and silver lace, feathers and wondrous embroidery. There were birds, horses, cats, mermaids and some things that didn't seem to be anything in particular. Even the talking animals were in costume as things that they weren't. A chipmunk had dressed up as a squirrel; there was a group of horses with fake wings on their backs and a swan with a peacock's tail.

"Your ladyships."

They turned to see a man standing before them. He was dressed in red and white alternating on each side and his face, beneath his mask, was painted in like manner. There were bells on his funny little hat and on the toes of his curling shoes. A monkey was scampering all over him, pausing on his shoulder as he bowed.

"Your lordship?" Deidre said, dropping into a polite curtsey. "Do we know you?"

Grinning, the man removed his mask and bowed again.

"Lord Peridan!" they all exclaimed at once. Lucy couldn't help but laugh. The solemn Lord Peridan dressed as a jester? What a joke!

~o*o~

Edmund rather liked it.

He could stare at people from behind his mask and no one would ever know he was looking at them. The only part he didn't like was the makeup. It was silly and made him look ridiculous...especially the powdering the hair red part.

He kept his eyes peeled for Susan and Lucy, but he hadn't spotted them yet. Peter stood beside him and looked…remarkable. Most of the costumes were rather stunning. The only person, he speculated, who wasn't in costume was Martin. He had been given a mask by Flavis, but Martin seemed to have forgotten its existence.

"Good evening, King Edmund."

Edmund looked down to see Treve sitting on the floor in front of him.

"Hullo," Edmund said. "I'm not exactly a king yet."

Treve ignored him.

"You don't look at _all_ like a fox," Treve informed him with dissatisfaction.

"You knew I was one," Edmund said, smiling behind his mask.

"Hullo Treve," Peter said, noticing him for the first time.

Treve looked up at him thoughtfully, "I haven't even a faint idea of what you are supposed to be."

Peter laughed and pulled off his mask.

"I'm supposed to be a lion…do you like the hair?"

Treve's jaw dropped. Peter's hair had been powdered with gold dust and shimmered in the lamplight.

"You look…interesting."

"Quite," Peter pulled his mask back on.

Ahead of them the crowd parted and a little girl dressed all in blue galloped up to them.

"_There _you are!" she exclaimed, "I've been looking everywhere for you! You both look simply wonderful! Do you like _my _costume?"

"You look very pretty," Peter said, smiling. "Where's Susan?"

"She's over there with Deidre."

"Well if I knew where that was I'd have spotted her by now."

"Right there."

Lucy pointed. She could just see Susan, looking beautiful in a cloud of white brocade and feathers.

Peter whistled. "What did they do to her hair?"

"It's not as bad as what they did to yours," Lucy giggled.

"Don't make me feel like more of an idiot then I am," Peter said.

Lucy laughed. "Do you know who everybody is?"

"I don't recognize a soul," Peter said.

"I do," said Edmund. "There's Lord Peridan, dressed as a jester. Lord Paladin looks like he's trying to be a stork and Lord Pryderi is some sort of cat. That chap over there with the great brown horse head is Lord Dar, you know, one of King Lune's brothers. And that one with the white horse head is Lord Darrin."

Lucy looked and bursting into fresh laughter declared that they both looked remarkably funny.

"They both have tails!" she added.

From the other side of the room, the musicians (dressed as everything from penguins to elephants) were warming up their instruments, their fingers flashing as they played. Soon the music flowed like a spring wind, twining around everyone and drawing them to the middle of the floor.

"I think I'll stand here and watch." Peter said.

"Somebody's got to dance with me," Lucy said, grabbing Edmund's hand and dragging him to the rest of the dancers. She looked up at him, an impish smile on her face, "Will you?"

"No, I won't," Edmund said, taking his place.

Lucy didn't really know how to dance and neither did Edmund, but somehow the music itself seemed to teach them, catching their hands and drawing them into the wild beauty of the dance. The dancers wove in and out of each other in an intricate, untamed line; they felt as if they were flying as they caught each other's hands and whirled around.

"Someday I'll learn this very well," Lucy said, flying in a circle with Lord Darrin and nearly stepping on his toe.

"I think you're doing well," he replied earnestly, "_I _never could dance. I always walked into people and knocked them down."

Lucy laughed and caught another hand, swinging down the line. Beautiful and strange faces flashed past her vision, with curling smiles and dark eyes, bobbing feathers and glinting gold, shimmering in the lights.

"Hello again," Lord Peridan said, twirling her around.

"_Why _did you pick _that_ costume?" Lucy asked wonderingly, looking up at him.

"I decided on the thing that would become me the least," Lord Peridan said.

Lord Dar took her hand next. He was very tall, taller than his brother and neither of them really looked at all like their brother, the king.

"Hello!" she said cheerfully.

"Hello!" he replied.

Then Edmund seized her hands, ducked and drew her, laughing, down the length of the dancers under their upraised arms.

~o*o~

Edmund had always been fascinated by fiddles. There was something lovely about them; it wasn't just their singing voices, it was the beauty and artistry that had been poured into each one, the gleaming wood, the carefully carved tuning pegs and the horsehair in the bows. He loved to watch them dance and never tired of watching the fiddlers play.

It was with some shyness he finally asked if it was hard to play one. Within five minutes, he was sitting in a chair with a fiddle under his chin and all the fiddlers watching eagerly while he attempted to pick out 'Twinkle, twinkle little star'.

Peter spent a good deal of his time talking to Lord Darrin. Lord Darrin was a good deal younger then King Lune or Lord Dar. In fact, he was only a few months older then Peter himself. They spoke on horses for a while; mostly sparked off by the horse head Lord Darrin wore on his head. Darrin was a great horse lover and Peter rather felt that he was going to be too.

Susan, on the other hand, found herself talking to Lord Dar. He had discovered that Susan didn't know the constellations and he endeavored to tell her of them.

"I know about the Bear," she said. "It was pointed out to us on the way here, but I don't know much about the others."

There was a story painted in the sky, Lord Dar explained, his face suddenly lighting with pleasure as he told her of the Ship, the Castle and the Lion with the North Star in his paw.

"It always reminds us," Lord Dar said with gravity, "That Aslan is our direction."

On the other side of the room, Lucy was feeling decidedly ill. She tried to walk across the floor, but the room was whirling around her and the freshly waxed floor seemed determined to come up and hit her in the face. Somebody had her by the arm and she looked up to see Deidre staring down at her with concern.

"If I didn't know better I'd say you were drunk," Deidre declared with finality.

"I only had eggnog," The lights, the music and the dancers seemed to have rolled themselves into a massive Kaleidoscope that never seemed to stand still.

"Oh, my poor child," Deidre said, kneeling down. "Didn't you know eggnog is more than half rum?"

~o*o~

Lucy wasn't the only person who felt a bit tipsy. Peter had the unhappy consequence of having a whole glass of red wine dumped down the front of his beautiful golden velvet doublet by a girl who was trying to flutter her eyelashes at him.

He stared down himself in disgust, "I think I'll go change."

"That would probably be a good idea," Darrin agreed.

Peter slipped away from the Great Hall without mishap, listening as the music faded and was muffled by the walls. He had been afraid the girl would follow him, but he was half pleased and half sorry to see that she had fainted…or at least had pretended to.

He dumped his clothes on his bed and rooted through them until he managed to find another doublet that would go reasonably well with his costume. The hallway was dark as he stepped out the door and the flames of the candles in the sconces bowed as a cool wind blew past. A dark shadow was slipping along the wall.

Peter turned towards it, wondering, as a man appeared around the corner, looking half sinister in his domino costume. One half of his face was white, the other black, and his eyes glittered strangely in the flickering light.

"Lord Peridan?" Peter asked taking a step forward. "I was just-"

Lord Peridan did not answer, but in one swift motion, twisted out of the shadows, the light flashing down the blade of the dagger that he drew from his belt.

For one moment, Peter stood frozen, then fell backwards, stumbling as Lord Peridan leaped for him, his face twisting into a snarl. Peter ducked, his hands over his head as the dagger tore his clothes and stung his back.

Peter clambered to his feet, putting his foot against Lord Peridan's chest and sending him against the wall. Quickly Peter fumbled for his sword, dragging it loose of its sheath, the steel dark as the shadows. With a cry he leapt forward, swinging it as Lord Peridan feinted to one side. Peter swung again, but the blade knocked against a candle, sweeping it into Lord Peridan's face. A moment later, Rhindon had made its mark.

Peridan's body crumpled to the floor, a pool of darkness stretching silently across the flagstones. Peter stepped back, staring with wide eyes, the horrible knowledge that he had killed a man filling his soul.

Then he remembered the others.

Peter turned and ran.

~o*o~

Susan stood alone, her back against a column. Lord Dar had gone to get her some punch because she was feeling rather hot. It would take him awhile to get back, she thought, navigating through that crowded room…and there was no north star for a guide in there.

Susan looked up to see Lord Dar returning. He had put the brown horse head back on and she was mildly surprise to see that he wasn't bringing any punch.

Silently, he came to stand next to her, half in the shadows.

"Is the punch gone?" Susan asked, "Or is the crowd too thick?"

Lord Dar did not reply and Susan turned to look at him. He was gone.

The next moment, a strong hand clamped over her mouth and dragged her backwards. She kicked, but it was no use. She saw the brown horse head hovering over her. Lord Dar? But…!

He opened a side door and suddenly they were both outside in the freezing air. The long line of yellow light from the door looked very stark on the shadowed snow. She kicked, trying to drive the heel of her shoe into his shin, but it was no use.

Suddenly Lord Dar moaned and fell backwards, his iron arm dragging her down into the snow. She thrashed, trying to get free, then someone had her hand and was pulling her to her feet.

It was a tall man in a lion mask, squeezing her hands in the darkness. She struggled against him, her nails raking the sequins off his mask as she tried to break his grip.

"Susan, stop! Susan it's me!"

With a cry of relief she fell against him, crying, burying her face in his doublet. "I'm sorry!"

"Are you all right? Susan!"

She nodded dumbly, the frigid air stabbing her lungs and clearing her head, "Your hands are bloody."

"Where are Lucy and Edmund?" Peter demanded, wiping his hands on his doublet.

Susan opened her mouth to answer, then an earth-shattering scream echoed through the air.

For one moment, Peter thought it was her, but as she turned to face him, he knew it was Lucy's scream. He recognized it well. Quickly, he grabbed Susan's hand and dragged her back through the door into the Great Hall, where a great wall of shouting seemed to be spiraling around them like the curve of the sea.

He battled his way through the crowd, kicking and gouging as he struggled to reach the screaming. Then as he pushed past someone, he saw Lucy standing a few feet away, her eyes as wide as saucers, a bloody gash on her shoulder. Edmund was kneeling on the floor next to the body of Lord Darrin; the white horse's head still covering his face. There was a crash as King Lune vaulted over the table on the dais, scattering the pyramid of fruit.

"Darrin!" King Lune cried.

Peter dropped Susan's hand and leapt forward. Everything became vividly clear to him and his heart tightened, half with relief and half with fear. Crouching behind Edmund, gaudy in a lion's costume, the blade of a knife in his hand, Peter saw himself.

With a cry of rage, Peter launched himself at the imposter and they rolled across the floor. The other Peter struck him a hard blow on the head and somebody kicked him in the back, but Peter's hands were at the other Peter's throat, trying to throttle the life out of him.

The room spun, the shouting seemed to be drowning him as someone broke his grip on the man's neck and dragged him to his feet. Peter saw a mask of light and dark blur into his vision and with the last ounce of strength in him; he wrestled this new menace to the ground.

Then the world went dark.

~o*o~

"I think he's coming 'round."

"Someday he is going to be quite a formidable fighter."

"If he lives that long."

"Peter?"

Peter's head was roaring. He opened his eyes and faces crowded into his vision. Edmund had his hands and there was worry in his blue eyes.

"Sorry I had to bump you on the head," King Lune appeared overhead, "but you were about to strangle Lord Peridan."

"He tried to murder me," Peter said, trying to sit up. "Someone has tried to murder all of us."

"Look," King Lune moved aside revealing the dead man who had been masquerading as Lord Darrin, "He's a Calormen. The other was a Calormen too. The one trying to be you got away."

Peter sat for a moment digesting this.

"Then there is one dressed as Lord Peridan in the hallway outside my door," Peter said.

"Four of them then," King Lune said heavily, "You're not safe, even here."

"How's Lucy?" Peter asked, slowly climbing to his feet.

"The scratch on her shoulder is not serious," King Lune replied, "Deidre and your sister are seeing to her now."

Peter looked around himself. Everyone stood with concern written on their faces – Edmund, Flavis, Lord Dar, Chibb, Lord Darrin, Equus, Treve, Lord Peridan…

"I'm really sorry I tried to kill you," Peter said, offering a hand, "I didn't realize-"

"_I_ didn't realize. You were both dressed the same," Lord Peridan interrupted, taking his hand. "I'm afraid it's mostly my fault the last assassin got away."

"He really did get away, then?" Peter asked.

"Yes, I'm afraid so," King Lune said, "Martin is conducting a search of the castle, but I doubt the fellow will be found – the villain…deserves to be hanged."

"What happened before I arrived?" Peter asked, "I came as quickly as I could after that chap attacked me in the hallway."

"Someone disguised as Lord Darrin - " Edmund began.

"Two faced, scheming, good for nothing…" Lord Darrin muttered.

"Someone disguised as Lord Darrin," Edmund continued, "Pulled out a knife and tried to stab Lucy right in plain sight. She managed to duck and by sheer chance I finished him off with my sword," Edmund turned rather green, "After that you came charging in and tackled yourself and we didn't know which was which. I wish you'd taken the trouble to take off your mask beforehand."

Peter smiled and thumped Edmund in the shoulder, "Just glad everybody's in one piece."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks, as always to Imaginatrix for her ideas on the Production Note and to all of you, who have been writing back so faithfully and with such good ideas. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

~Psyche

**Production Note:** The posting of this chapter was delayed because Fenris came into our office yesterday saying he wanted to be immortalized in a plush version (doesn't seem to care about an action figure). He pointed out that he is just as cuddly as Treve and Loki and says we shouldn't be allowed to discriminate. In response to his request, the FenrisTM Plush is soon to be loosed on the world. The plush will growl when its right ear is pushed and Fenris' pre-recorded voice will snarl 'Die King Peter!' when the left ear is pushed. Available for pre-order.

**Poll:** Take a look.


	17. Labore

Labore

* * *

_If the past cannot teach the present and the father cannot teach the son, then history need not have bothered to go on, and the world has wasted a great deal of time. _

~ Russell Hoban

* * *

After the assassination attempts, Martin, or other bodyguards were not far from the sides of the four children. Peter had four stitches in his back and Lucy got five in her shoulder, she was always proud to say she had one more than him.

"There is no further excuse," Martin had announced when the stitches were removed from Peter's back. "Your ignorance in weaponry is appalling. You own the finest weapons in the land, yet you are bumbling oafs. It was no skill of yours that kept you from being killed. You will learn and I will not be interrupted."

Martin's definition of learning was near murder.

It was midnight when he stormed into the room Peter and Edmund shared and woke them roughly.

"Put on your simplest and most durable clothes," his voice came through the darkness. "And gather your weapons. Meet me in the courtyard in fifteen minutes."

"What do you think he means to do?" Edmund asked, yawning mightily. Moving was torture at that time of night.

"I think he's bent on pounding something in our heads," Peter said.

They met Martin in the courtyard and saw that he held their horses and as they swung astride he turned to them.

"We will ride all night," he said simply.

Ride all night they did.

They watched as the moon glided across the sky like a great ship with her sails set and drawing and they heard the long, low hoots of the owls calling. Martin set a stiff pace, a hard canter, until their bones ached with weariness. And when morning finally touched the sky, they were miles from Anvard, miles from anywhere.

The months that followed were something of a haze to them afterwards like a long dark struggle through a narrow tunnel, wading in an icy stream, climbing mountains, watching the dull gleaming head of an arrow before releasing the string and knowing the shot was true.

"These lessons you will learn for life," Martin said. "You will be changed when you return; you will not even know yourselves. I will push you until you break and keep pushing after that. You must learn your limits and only then will truly begin to learn."

Their weapons became extensions of their arms and they learned to care for the cold steel as carefully as they would care for a baby. They hunted their own food, dug for roots in the frozen ground, learned to make a fire with only sticks and sand, learned patience.

The old Edmund could never sit still, but this Edmund could stay for hours crouched in the shadows, an arrow taut on his string. Their muscles hardened and as they grew taller, they measured their lives by the length of arrows and sword blades and the course of the moon.

* * *

As the months flew past, spring crept over the windowsill with gentle fingers. When Susan and Lucy went out riding now, they could look down into misty valleys and across plains purple with heather. The trees had shaken loose the snow and green spread over the world like a wave.

They had learned too, the running of a castle from Deidre, who always pointed out that there was no time like the present to start something new; they learned how to shoot a bow and actually hit something from Lord Twang and knife throwing from Flavis and when it was raining, they often sat in on his classes for the younger animals of the court and learned history, algebra and geography; dipping deep in his well of knowledge.

Bruinhild and Oakheart judged it safe to return to their homes in Narnia and there was a tearful farewell.

"Don't go!" Lucy cried. "Who will sit with me in front of the fire on the evenings and tell me stories if you do?"

"Remember the ones I _have_ told you," Bruinhild said. "We'll be seeing each other again soon enough."

Susan watched Lucy try to be cheerful after Bruinhild left; her sister had a sunny, bright personality that was easily quenched at this young age and Susan hated to see her like that.

"I can make you another Baloo," Susan suggest one day.

Lucy looked at her with big blue eyes, "I'd really rather you didn't," she said at last. "Somehow it's not the same anymore."

The lambs were romping in the fields, the young streams were laughing and Deidre gave birth to twins. They were boys, identical, and they were blessed by Equus one clear morning when the sun shined.

The eldest was named Cor and the younger Corin and when Equus held up Cor a strange look came over his face.

"A day will come when this lad will save Archenland from the gravest danger she ever faced; guard him carefully."

But Deidre had not been well since they were born and all the court watched her closely in the days that followed.

"Deidre," Susan said one day as they sat embroidering in a sunny alcove, all grown over with rambling roses, watching the little Squirrel maids romp in the garden, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, anything," Deidre laughed. "Don't look so hesitant about it!"

"Who is Lord Bar?"

"Lord Bar?" Deidre leaned back and looked up into twining roses that glowed around them. A peacock strutted in the garden and they could see the bright flash of light on water as the fountain sang. "He's Lord of Kernow."

"I understand he is a Narnian," Susan said.

"Yes, he is," Deidre said. "Why all these questions?"

"I've seen the way he looks at you, I don't like it…" Susan trailed off.

Deidre laughed and laid a hand on Susan's arm. Her hand was frail, so frail compared to what it had been.

"He once wished to marry me," she said at last. "I don't believe he's ever got over my refusal. But I have married a much better man."

Susan watched her face, her eyes running over the shadows that had not been there before. Her eyes were very bright, too bright; it was as if she knew something that they did not. At their feet, Lucy sat on the steps embroidering madly; at last she sat back.

"It's pretty good, isn't it?" she asked, looking up worriedly.

"It's very good," Deidre said putting down her knitting of a bonnet for a baby. "I'm impressed at how well you both have been progressing."

Susan leaned down and ran her hand over their careful embroidery. It was the flag of Narnia, a red lion, rampant on a green ground. It was nearly completed and it was beautiful, though not perfect.

"Someday you'll learn that the most beautiful things in this world often aren't perfect." Deidre said.

They sat back and breathed in the warm air that rushed over the flowers to surround them with sweet perfume. There was a sort of music in the rustling of the leaves and the wild warbling of the birds.

"How did you meet King Lune?" Susan asked.

"Oh, he was out hunting and tracked mud all over my clean floor. I chastised him roundly," Deidre said with a laugh. "His mother was a formidable woman with long grey hair, who disapproved of the match, but Lune got his way and we were married. I have been so happy." She paused, then glanced down at Lucy. "I have been thinking."

"You're always thinking!" Susan said with a laugh.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's a bad trait," Deidre said. "When Martin is done with your brothers they'll want something to cheer them up. They'll both become kings; they'll both need their own standards."

"It's a fine idea," Susan said, sitting a little straighter. "Do you think we can do it?"

"I know you can," Deidre said with a laugh. "I thought a lion for Peter, because his heart is like a lion's and a unicorn for Edmund, because he has great wisdom."

"I wish he'd at least tell us where they are or if they're still in one piece," Susan said. "I don't think I've ever missed them so much."

"You won't recognize them when you see them again," Deidre said. "Martin generally has a very transforming affect on people. Perhaps tomorrow I will go riding."

"Deidre! No!" Susan exclaimed. "You're not well enough!"

"I'm not well enough to stay earthbound," Deidre said, throwing her head back, her long curling hair streaming behind her. "There are the babies crying again."

"Don't stir," Susan said. "I'll go."

The two princes were very different from each other. Cor, the elder, was smaller than his brother and always very grave, his large blue eyes following the movements of everyone near him. Corin, on the other hand, was always getting into trouble. He was a prodigious crawler and could disappear at a moment's notice. Susan had been run off her feet trying to keep track of him.

"Susan," Deidre said as Susan handed her Cor and sat down in her own chair with Corin.

"Yes?"

"If anything should ever happen to me… if I might go away suddenly… will you promise to look after them, as if they were your own?"

"You're not going away," Susan said, reaching out to take her hand. "You will get well!"

"Will you promise?"

"There's no need…"

"Promise."

Susan sighed and closed her eyes, "Of course, I promise."

Deidre seemed to relax and a smile played around her lips, as she looked up at the roses that bloomed, coiling around the columns of the alcove, their tendrils curling green and alive.

"Roses are so beautiful," she said quietly, reaching up to cradle one in her hand as it danced in the wind. "But I don't think they would be nearly so beautiful if they didn't have thorns."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I've been rather a long time away, haven't I? I've been busy, having my wisdom teeth removed and brushing up on archery (great fun, that). We finally got to watch _The Hobbit_ (luv it!) and the trees are starting to bud (definitely something to celebrate!). The Kentucky Derby is on Saturday! I'll be watching it and I hope you do, too. Right now I can't decide which horse I'm favoring, either Oxbow or Orb (of course I might be totally wrong, I usually am).

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Last week the cast was able to go on a short (and much needed) vacation. Susan, Lucy and the White Witch sunbathed on Paravel Beach, Loki, Shard and Fenris got away to have a little family time on _Dawn Treader Cruises_ and Treve hasn't turned up yet (we're still looking for him). Peter and Edmund were so upset they had to go on vacation, that they took the first flying horse to Middle Earth to finish off some Wargs.


	18. The Reckoning

The Reckoning

* * *

_Knowledge without sense is twofold folly. _

~ Spanish Proverb

* * *

That night, three dark figures, shrouded in cloaks were deep in the shadows of the woods. With a gentle nudge of his knee, Peter guided Ares, his black steed, a step closer to Martin where he stood with his arms crossed, his face hid by shadow.

"They're ruffians, all, but they've never had a day of proper training in their lives, you should have no trouble taking care of them."

Peter turned his gaze ahead of them to the party of men who sat around a fire in the middle of a clearing. Trees towered all around them, red painted by firelight, and a thin tendril of smoke curled up into the star stabbed spring air.

"They're known murderers and have been at large for some years. The folk around here have been trying to take care of them for years, but haven't been able to. I've heard them talk about it in the tavern."

"So you've been nursing pints of beer in taverns while we've been living off snakes, eh?" Edmund muttered.

Martin ignored him.

"There are five of them, the one with the long scar is the most formidable, target him first, I'll leave the rest up to your digression." Martin added. "Capture them alive, but remember, they're hardened criminals with bounties on their heads. They've all killed in cold blood and won't hesitate to add you to their list."

"Right," Peter said. "Shall we go?"

"Go ahead," Martin said, then hesitated, "King Edmund, please don't take risks. You've been too reckless lately. For Narnia's sake, don't get killed."

"I have my ring." Edmund replied.

Peter glanced at him, his face worried, "Don't put your faith in it."

"Stop worrying, Pete," Edmund said, reaching out to pat his shoulder as they slipped down from their horses. As Martin watched, they melted from view into the shadows, moving with the swaying of the trees.

Edmund was happiest on his feet; horses were well and good, but on the ground, he could be silent and unseen and gently, he eased his sword in its sheath. Peter had left him a while ago, melting away, though Edmund had been able to follow his progress by a slight flicker of movement in the corner of his eye.

Edmund dropped down on his stomach and eyed the men around the fire. Scarface sat to one side, eating a side of meat, Edmund could just see Peter crouched in the woods on the other side the clearing, he nodded almost imperceptibly.

Edmund squirmed along on his stomach, almost invisible in his gray cloak. Scarface saw a shadow ripple just beyond his vision, but when he turned his head he saw nothing. Gently, Edmund reached out and slipped the man's dagger out of its sheath, then took his money bag for good measure.

He sank down beside the next man, a fellow with a lumpy nose.

"Chilly, isn't it?" he muttered. When Lumpy Nose looked, he was gone.

"Did you say something?" Lumpy Nose asked, looking at Scarface.

Two more to go, but Edmund knew that Peter would already have taken care of them. Edmund, clutching the daggers to himself, slipped back behind a tree. Peter was waiting for him.

"Swords, daggers, two bows, anything else?" Peter whispered. "I took a nice looking gold chain off one of them. He didn't seem to mind."

"I've a bag of gold," Edmund said softly. "I'm richer."

"Aw, put a cork in it," Peter whispered with a grin. "Ready?"

Edmund nodded.

Scarface looked up to see a tall youth warming his hands next to the fire. He was about eighteen and looked as hard as a boot heel.

"I've dropped in to take you all into the village," Peter said quietly. "I've heard that the sheriff is rather found of you. In fact, he's dying to see you."

Scarface's hand snaked to the hilt of the dagger and found himself groping empty air. With a flicker of light, Rhindon's point was just touching his throat, Peter backed away slightly, so that he faced the others. "I'd advise you to come quietly. I have no compunction about running you all through. Stand up."

Slowly they stood, watching him warily. Rhindon's point never left Scarface's throat. Peter saw the flicker of looks that passed between them, but before they could move, a rope dropped around two of them suddenly, drawing tight. Edmund had learned the art of rope throwing beautifully.

Peter dropped Rhindon's point and drove the heel of his hand into Scarface's jaw; the man crumpled soundlessly and Peter turned to the fourth man just as he turned to run.

"I wouldn't do that," Peter called after him as a spinning dagger left his hand. The man stumbled and fell as the hilt stunned him.

Edmund stood up, dusting off his hands as he pulled the last knots tight.

"Well, that went like clockwork," Edmund said. "Shall we tie up the other two?"

"I will," Peter said, taking a coil of rope from his belt. He knelt down, twisting the rope around their hands and feet. "Edmund, get out of the moonlight. You're standing out like a sore thumb."

"Stop worrying, Pete," Edmund said with a grin. "I wonder where Martin is?"

Peter glanced up and his heart froze as he remembered what they had both forgotten. There had been five of them.

"Edmund!" he roared, leaping to his feet. "Look out!"

Edmund, twisted sideways as another man materialized like a beast into the moonlight, a dagger gleaming in his hand. Peter was struggling to his feet, yet it seemed that both he and the ruffian were moving in slow motion as Edmund gasped and lurched.

With a sigh, Edmund crumpled and Peter crossed the clearing in two strides, roaring like a lion, but Martin was already there. His claymore flashed once and the man lay dead.

"I told you five men!" Martin cried as he dropped to his knees to turn Edmund over, the moonlight washing over the hilt of a dagger buried deep in his back. Martin's quick hands found Edmund's pulse fluttering in his neck. "You let your guard down and now you might have cost him his life."

~o*o~

"The dagger punctured his lung," the doctor reported, closing the door gently behind him. "I'm afraid there is nothing I can do."

They had galloped until the horses had begged for air and at last arrived in the nearest town. Lights had flashed on in the inn to their shouts and at last they had laid Edmund down on a bed, his blood soaking into the bedclothes.

"There must be something you can do!" Peter bellowed.

The doctor's face paled and Peter realized that he had picked him up by the front of his nightshirt. Gently, he put him down again.

"I'm sorry."

He opened the door and stepped into the room. A single candle burned, flickering, on the side table and the only sound was the horrible whistling breaths that Edmund struggled to take.

"How long has he got?" Peter asked at last, quietly turning to the doctor.

"A few hours? A few days?" the doctor whispered. "He may seem to recover from the wound, but infection will set in. I have never seen a case such as this recover."

"Martin," Peter said, glancing at the centaur. "I'm going to Cair Anvard; I'm going to get Susan."

"I'll go, sire."

"No," Peter said. "At least I'll be doing something."

Peter crossed the room in a few strides and knelt next to the bed. He seized Edmund's ice cold hand in both his own.

"Edmund? Can you hear me?" he asked clearly.

Edmund eyes fluttered open, dark blue in the candlelight.

"I'm going to fetch Susan. You will stay alive until I return. Do you understand?" Peter annunciated each word carefully as if he could believe them himself if he did. "That is an order."

Edmund nodded imperceptibly. His lips were moving and Peter leaned closer, barely hearing him.

"I put too much faith in my ring," he whispered. "I trusted in it instead of using my own skill."

"Yes," Peter squeezed his Edmund's hand, looking down to see the heavy silver ring on his thumb, entwined with filigree and sparked with blue fire. For a moment, Peter almost hated it, then he rose and left the room.

~o*o~

Susan woke to Peter shaking her.

She hadn't seen him in months and now here he was in the middle of the night, calling her name. She sat up groggily.

"Peter?"

"Get dressed and get your cordial. Your horse will be waiting for you in the courtyard. Meet me there. I will explain on the way."

"What about Lucy?"

"Leave her, there's no time." Peter crossed the room, then turned to look back at her in the doorway. "Remember, the cordial. That is most important of all. Hurry."

She dressed in a shivering whirl of shaking fingers, awkwardly trying to lace her ties, then snatched up the cordial from under her pillow and fled into the night. Almost before she could catch her breath Peter was boosting her into her saddle and mounting a horse himself. Subconsciously, she realized he was taller than she remember. When she had last seen him, he was an awkward boy, now he was a man.

Peter spurred his horse into a run and she followed, the night wind combing her hair. It was very nearly morning and in his heart, Peter thought about his sword, Rhindon. There was no light in that blade, only darkness and death.

"If only…" he began, his heart torn asunder, "If only it had been me."

"Tell me, please," Susan said quietly. "Tell me what happened."

At last, he told her why he had come and watched her face in the moonlight. He half expected that she would faint and he would have to continue on his own. Yet her features did not change.

"Can we go any faster?" she asked quietly.

* * *

Eustace was standing on grass, very close to a grove of trees. The sky was rippling overhead and it was strangely dark as dried leaves whispered in the fitful wind. He turned, looking around himself and saw, just peaking through the branches, the gray façades of great buildings, towering towards the sky.

There was no noise. It was silent and there seemed to be nobody in sight; there was no traffic, no pigeons, nothing, only this great, empty city, stretching on and on for miles.

He was standing in a park, looking out at a mall, tarnished under the boiling sky. There were storm clouds gathering thick and fast in the east and they covered the sky as far as he could see.

"Hello?" he called.

His voice echoed and reechoed, leaping from the buildings, only to be swallowed by distance.

_Am I all alone, then?_ He wondered to himself.

He started walking, though he never remembered why, past a row of lampposts that seemed to go on forever, each seeming larger than the last as he passed them. The glass gleamed dully as the lights flickered; wan, golden lights in the grayness. They led straight on, up the thoroughfare and past a great arch that stretched across the road.

He felt he had never been here when there was nothing and there was nothing now, it was as empty as a ghost city… and it had started to rain.

He came to a square almost before he knew it and he stopped in the middle of the road as dead leaves raced past him where the traffic ought to have been blurring in a wild ruckus of honking and colors.

But there was nothing.

There was a single, free standing pillar towering into the sky in the middle of the square and as he looked at it, he knew he ought to know it, but somehow, he did not. It was alone, stretching into the sky and behind it sprawled many great buildings in the neoclassical style.

He shook himself and began to walk again, towards the pillar, staring up at it as if it could tell him what it was… but it was silent, pointing at the sky like the lampposts, ignoring him. Slowly, his eyes traveled down the fluted length of the column and came at last to rest on a great, reclining statue, cast in bronze and gleaming like old gold under the troubled sky.

Its head was high, its eyes far seeing into the deepness of the distance, somewhere beyond the city. Slowly Eustace clambered up until he was between its massive forepaws, but still it seemed to gaze away into space.

At last, Eustace reached out and touched its face. Then he recoiled sharply as for one moment, he found himself staring into its eyes, deeper than an ocean and wider than the sky…

He woke with a jerk, shivering, the thin blanket pulled up under his chin. He stared around himself, his glance dashing around the stone walls to the fireplace and at last to the frost grown window that looked out over a moon washed plane of snow.

Slowly, he sat up, desperately trying to keep a hold of something that was just about to slip from his grasp.

"Of course!" he exclaimed aloud. "It was Trafalgar square… it was one of the lions guarding the base of Nelson's column. It was London!"

* * *

**Author's Note:** There it is, folks, another chapter for your consumption! I'm not going to point any names or name any fingers, but someone will die in the next chapter.

Happy reading! Thanks for MCH on her ideas for the production note.

**NarniaLover:** I hope I'm not too late. I keep forgetting to thank you for your lovely review. I hope (despite my tardy response) that you'll continue to enjoy the story!

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Special edition action figures are set to be released next week. The box set includes all four children dressed in their costumes from the Masquerade Ball; unless you reprogram the figures, Peter and Edmund will slip away secretly and change out of their costumes for something more serious. Replicas of Peter and Edmund's swords are available for back order, the blades have been sharpened and it is advised to resist the temptation to chop down trees as this can inflict damage on both the trees and the swords.


	19. Eternity

Eternity

* * *

_Life and death upon one tether_

_And running beautiful together._

~ Robert P. Tristram Coffin

* * *

Deidre went riding the next morning. She had at last convinced the King to let her go. Lucy and King Lune rode with her; the King's brothers flanking them, Lord Peridan bringing up the rear guard.

She seemed almost well as she sat on her horse, her merlin on her wrist. She swung the horse around and laughed as King Lune warned her not to ride too fast.

"You crazy girl," he'd said fondly.

"You crazy man!" she'd replied just as quickly, launching her hawk into the air.

King Lune sent his own red tailed hawk after it and they spurred their horses into a gallop as they saw the birds swoop, and curve and at last the merlin dove like a thunderbolt, talons outstretched.

Lucy heard the high, shrill call of a rabbit, then Lord Peridan swung down from his horse and presented it to Deidre.

"Put it in the game bag," she said, whistling to her bird. "We'll have him in a pie for supper."

Lucy spurred her horse, reining in as she came alongside Deidre.

"I do hope Susan is all right," she said at last.

Deidre glanced at her. "Don't worry, Peter will take care of her."

"But why did he come in the middle of the night and take her away?" Lucy asked, then stiffened, "Perhaps Edmund is in trouble."

"I'm sure all is well," Deidre said, but in her own heart, she feared for Edmund. "Look! There is a hedge!"

She swung her horse around and urged it into a gallop; it was a fine chestnut, named Peony.

King Lune half halted his horse, "Not the hedge! Deidre, no!"

"Just once!" She called, laughing over her shoulder.

"Deidre!" King Lune called again, his voice sharper. "No!"

But she did it anyway.

Peony hung like a rainbow, suspended in the air. None of them saw Deidre fall as Peony's legs buckled and she turned a summersault.

* * *

Peter left his horse while it still galloped and ran next to Susan's mare to pull her from the saddle. She stumbled and almost fell, but he held her upright. Martin was running to them.

"Tell me!" Peter exclaimed.

"He still lives, but only just." Martin said. "Hurry!"

They hurried.

The inn was a timber-framed building, the largest house in the little town, but they hardly saw it as they went through the door. Peter stooped under the low doorframe, then seized Susan's hand and dragged her up the creaking stairs. The patrons in the pub below them ceased their talking and watched them go. The hallways were narrow and winding, the ceiling low and nothing was perfectly straight or even.

Then Peter saw the door and his hand was at the latch. "Quickly now!"

The door opened and the room lay as it had when he had last seen it, the big bed, the sheets stained crimson and his little brother still and outstretched.

"Edmund!" Peter cried as Susan left his side and rushed across the room, her face as pale as Edmund's.

"Stay calm," Edmund murmured, his lips barely moving.

"I will not be calm!" Peter exclaimed.

"Edmund!" Susan dropped on her knees next to the bed, her hand fumbling with the stopper in the bottle. "Open your mouth!"

He opened it obediently.

A quivering drop of the precious liquid hung suspended for a moment from the lip of the bottle, then it fell, flashing light. Edmund closed his mouth and gulped, a horrible expression twisting his features.

"Tastes terrible," he whispered.

"Are you feeling better?" Susan cried, grabbing his hand. "Is it helping?"

"Stop fussing," Edmund said crossly. "Get off me, Peter, and let me sit up."

Peter laughed and seized him by the shoulders, shaking him, and Susan, at last bursting into tears, threw her arms around his neck.

"Now everything is all right," she sobbed.

* * *

They carried her home on a stretcher and gently laid her down in her bed; doctors crowded into the room, Equus was called and Lucy wept in the doorway. At last, King Lune motioned them all to leave and knelt beside the bed; she took both his big hands in her little once and kissed them, one after the other, her lips hot and dry to his touch.

"Life and death are bound together," she whispered. "You can't have one without the other."

Her eyes wandered over to the cradle in the corner of the room where her two boys slept and tears welled in her eyes.

"You cannot leave me, dear heart," he said, his voice breaking, "You are my soul and my better half. How can I live torn asunder?"

"Aslan will be your better half," she said, "It will only be for a time. We will not say goodbye, because we will be together again and when that time comes, we will not be separated."

For a time she closed her eyes and he sat by her, cradling her hands and praying as he never prayed before. Tick by terrible tick, the clock measured out the time, the pendulum swinging in the dull light. There was a vase of deep red roses standing on an inlaid side table, their thorns stark in light that fell on them, and as he looked up a petal fell softly like a tear, drifting to the floor. He closed his eyes.

He felt her hands touch his head and he realized that he had buried his face in her bosom as to breathe his own strong life into her frail body.

"I love you," she whispered.

And as he raised a tear stained face, he seemed to see her whole being sink as her soul lifted from her and fled away.

All was silence and it seemed he no longer heard the clock resolutely ticking off the seconds. Her hand was still warm in his and he kissed it and laid it gently on the bedclothes. Her beautiful eyes were open, staring sightlessly upward and his hand was strangely steady as he closed them; closed them forever.

He leaned down to kiss her one last time, then he turned and walked from the room. She was no longer there and he could not bear to see her body, the empty shell of her being.

~o*o~

A grave was dug in the old burying ground outside of Anvard.

The funeral procession wound its way through the streets and the whole population watched them go and mourned with them for the young Queen who had been so beautiful and kind. They remembered her well. They remembered her at her wedding; the joy in the king's eyes. They remembered the year of the plague, when she had risked her own life to bring heeling to the sick. They remembered her when she rode through the streets to accompany her husband on the hunt. They remembered how she had driven down this same road at this same time in a white carriage on her wedding day.

Now she was dead.

The hearse bearing her rolled forward over the muddy road. It had been covered with black roses and six black horses pulled it. Their steps seemed too quick and light, too full of energy. Behind the hearse rode the king with his two brothers. Behind them, rode the four children.

All wore black, all were silent. The only sound to be heard was the rumble of many horse hooves and the soft weeping of the people who watched them go. The only flash of color was the bouquet of pale pink roses Lucy clutched.

Warm wind lifted the girls veils and blew them streaming aside like ghosts. Spring had arrived and just when life seemed the brightest, darkness had come. The trees were just tinged with green and stretching around them were fields tinted with lavender and lupines.

They buried her where the wild roses tumbled across the ground, their petals red as blood and wet as if with tears. Gently, their voices mingled as they sang the funeral dirge, the soft words twining with the blowing wind.

_Good bye, dear one, travel far._

_Blown with stars' breath,_

_Down the moonbeams to rest_

_On the silver shore._

_Death swept like a rainbow_

_With gilded wings outstretched,_

_Her gentle hand drawing life_

_From the fading eyes she caressed._

_Alas, dear one, good bye._

At last Equus bowed his head and his silver voice rang out over the weeping crowd.

"Earth to earth."

"Ashes to ashes."

"Dust to dust."

"In sure and certain hope of the Resurrection into eternal life."

* * *

Loki felt himself strangely drawn to Eustace and no matter what, he went every night to his chamber; half to see if he had any news he felt like sharing and half just to be with him. Sometimes things would be hurled at him when he entered the room, but sometimes, Eustace was actually glad to see him.

"I feel like there are two of me," Eustace complained one day when he and Loki happened to be walking down the hallway together. "The horrid thing is that they both hate each other. One wants to leave and find my cousins to apologize… the other… the other wishes they were dead… and I'm a pacifist."

"It sounds terrible," Loki agreed. "Dragons are like that sometimes. They are very unpredictable. Shard always said that it was because they boil over regularly."

"I feel like Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde," Eustace said, then suddenly froze. "Oh my goodness! I must have Schizophrenia! I need counseling."

Loki looked puzzled, then very slowly slipped away. Jadis was coming down the hallway like a cold wind, her frosty gown swept around her.

Eustace stayed standing where he was, staring at the wall, his mind whirling around him. In his mind's eye, he could see the castle, towering like a thing of ice from the snowy hills. He seemed to rise up, soaring like a hawk, watching the trees slip away beneath him. He could see the mountains.

"I want to go home!" he said at last, sobbing. "Harold? Alberta? Can you hear me? Somebody?"

"You want to go home?" Jadis' cold hand tilted his face up to look at her.

"Yes!" Eustace gasped and a single tear traced its way down his face. He could never describe afterwards what effort it took for him to say that; one side had battled the other and for the moment had scored a knockout blow. "There aren't any British Consuls here… are there?"

"We are a long ways from England, here, my boy," she said quietly. "Your constables and cabs, city streets and great buildings are a whole universe away. It's an unpleasant place; I really don't know why you would want to go back."

"But I do!" Eustace gasped.

She looked down at him, her eyes searing his, then she took his hand. "Come with me."

She lead him away down the great empty hall, though rooms that seemed to rise like caverns around them. Her grip was gentle, but unbreakable on his wrist and where she touched him, his skin was going numb.

They stood in a room of the castle he had never seen before. There seemed to be a great frozen lake stretching across the floor, reflective as a mirror, but shattered as if a meteorite had fallen and smashed it in the center. The shards glittered like knives.

"Come."

She lead him out into the middle of the lake, her feet never slipping; she held him up as he fell, bearing him along with force of will alone. "Kneel down."

Eustace knelt on the floor. His hands shook.

Bits of ice were before him, some shaped like triangles, some squares, some rectangles. His fingers stuck to them as he dragged them around. Blood dripped down, only to freeze and he realized at last that it was his own.

"Spell 'Eternity'" Jadis whispered, leaning down to put her lips to his ear, "Spell 'Eternity' and you shall go free."

Desperately, he tried, he must use all the pieces, none must overlap. He must spell 'eternity'. He would go free. His eyes smarted, his eyeballs felt frozen.

His fingers were beyond feeling and the tips were turning white. The pieces hung from them, then dropped. They were forming a shape, not a word. He leaned closer as the last piece fell into place.

It was a lion.

He saw the four legs, the tail, the mane. He wept, but his tears were frozen. With one numbed hand, he shattered the picture. He could not spell 'eternity'.

* * *

**Author's Note:** To borrow from Shakespeare, This was the most unkindest cut of all. The death of Cor and Corin's mother was always heartbreaking to me, when I first read 'Horse and His Boy'. It would have been so nice to let her live. Anyway, Edmund is back on his feet!

~Psyche

**Beatrice:** I don't know whether you are reading this story or not, but I just wanted to thank you for reviewing 'Act Your Age' just in case you are. I love getting anonymous reviews, but it's always a little hard to reply to them. So in reply to your question: I have written a story called 'The Horse that Stole the Boy' that might explain a little. I didn't really want them to all get married, because it was just too sad when they had to leave, but a lot of people on this site have explored what might have happened if they had. As for old ladies going horseback riding...perhaps the air in Narnia keeps you young longer? Again, thank you so much for your reviews, we really appreciated them.

**Production Note:** The entire cast is extremely excited about the next chapter. Peter says its going to be the most exciting yet and Edmund is allegedly stocking up on motion sickness pills. Sunscreen will be available from the make-up department.


	20. The Meaning of Life

The Meaning of Life

* * *

_ We're not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be._

~ C.S. Lewis

* * *

"We are here to take Narnia," Peter called, his voice ringing out across the field.

He had said those words so many times it felt like second nature. He had been riding Archenland over, meeting the Narnian cantrefs and addressing the soldiers. They had been training for years now and he knew that he was more ignorant than they. He had learned well his role since coming; he was their leader, it was his place to inspire hope in their hearts, he was their rallying point and guiding star. The training, the art of war, was left to the division commanders, his knowledge was little.

Arrayed before him were Centaurs, Fauns, Giants, Dwarfs, Squirrels, Foxes, Humans, Unicorns, great Dogs, noble Cats, bighorned Rams, Mice, Chipmunks, Phoenixes, Bears, Wolverines, Stags, shaggy haired Wisents, Skunks, Griffins…every living creature that could fight. They were all there, waiting for the day that they would take Narnia for their own.

"You must strive to do your best in training, obey your commanders and work together as one body. Sleep with your weapons near you and be ready at any time to rise and march. Live your lives so the fear of death will never be in your hearts; sing your death song, so that when you fight, you fight as you have never fought before. We do not know when Aslan will come, but he will come and we must be ready. Surprise is our best ally."

Peter stood, a strange sort of happiness springing in his heart as the soldiers burst into a roar of cheers. His hand stole down to the hilt of his sword and rested there, against the blood ruby.

"A message from your brother, sire."

Peter looked down from his horse to see a faun said, saluting smartly.

"What is it?" he asked. "And don't call me 'sire'."

"Yes sire," the faun said obediently. "Your brother sent me to tell you that the Crown Prince of Archenland has been kidnapped."

~o*o~

"The plans had been laid since before they were born," Edmund explained as their horses thundered side by side. Dust from many hooves was painted golden in the afternoon light as King Lune and a small detachment rode to overtake the kidnappers.

"Lord Bar has been contacting the Calormens for some time now; unfortunately we were not able to detect the plot in time." Edmund continued. "Our contacts say he's reached the coast and will, or all ready has, put to sea."

"Why did he only take Cor? Why not both?"

"He tried to take both, but Lucy was out flower picking with Corin." Edmund said.

"A little young to pick flowers, isn't he?"

"She thinks she can understand what he's saying."

"Maybe she can." Peter said, "So the Calormens are bent on invading Archenland and they meant to dispose of Cor because of the Prophecy?"

"That's how I understand it."

"It won't work," Peter said.

"What?"

"It won't work, prophecies don't just fall through like that; look at us," Peter glanced at him. "Cor will still save Archenland, whether he's alive or dead."

~o*o~

They arrived in Port Bowfin at three o' clock in the morning. The town was dark, but when the occupants of the lighthouse were questioned it was confirmed that a galleon, of Calormene build, named the _Sphinx_, had put to sea two hours before.

Peter and Edmund had been given a room overlooking the harbor and they watched while maintenance crews loaded up the two dark hulks of King Lune's fastest galleons. An enormous amount of supplies had been piled up on the quay and disappeared into the ships. Peter fell asleep, but Edmund stayed at the window watching as the sky lightened, silhouetting the ships' masts and rigging. He realized that he had fallen asleep only when an Ocelot came to tell them that the ships were departing momentarily.

They went down the stairs and out onto the quay into the sea air. King Lune was waiting for them. They boarded the _Griffon_ and watched while the sailors on the _Unicorn _cast off and raised their jib. The galleon moved slowly out of the harbor, the wind billowing her sails. The _Griffon _followed a few boat lengths behind.

Edmund leaned on the rail and watched the oily water slip slowly by.

"What are you looking at?"

Edmund glanced up to see Peter beside him.

"Do you think we'll get him back?" Edmund asked.

"I don't know," Peter said. "I don't think King Lune thinks we will; we've got off so late."

Peter grabbed the rail as the _Griffon_ caught a cat's paw of wind and heeled over. Ahead of them the foresail of the _Unicorn _climbed slowly up the foremast and her wake lengthened.

"We'll catch them up in a moment," King Lune said, walking to the rail to stand beside them. "The _Griffon _can easily outrun her. Have either of you ever been on a ship before?"

"A few times," Peter said. "We sailed with our uncle in his thirty foot Bermuda cutter."

King Lune looked blank.

"It's a kind of small ship in our world," Peter said hurriedly.

"Ready about!" the Captain's foghorn voice split the air and the sailor at the wheel put her hard to starboard. The boom swung overhead and the _Griffon_ heeled sharply to starboard. Both her main and fore had been set as well as her jib and staysail to balance her. She was of the lateen rig instead of the more traditional square rig. It made fast and maneuverable, capable of sailing very close to the wind. But she was small and not heavily armed.

Everything about the ship fascinated Peter and Edmund. She had a timeless grace, a majesty, rarely seen in anything else. The moment they stepped on her deck, they felt not like they were on something, but that they were with her. It was a strange feeling. The only tall ship they'd ever been on before was the HMS _Victory_. They had been on her twice; on both their trips to Portsmouth.

Onboard the _Griffon_, they could see the great craftsmanship and loving care her builders had put into her, from the intricacies of her rigging to her name engraved on the ship's bell. These were the days, they felt, when everything was a piece of art.

King Lune stood looking over the bulwarks for a minute, then left them and walked to the quarter deck to talk to the Captain.

"I think," Peter said, watching him leave, "If the whole thing with Narnia works out, we'll have a go at a real gaff rig, it would be better."

"Topsails, too," Edmund said. "She would be considerably faster. What would you name her?"

"_Splendor Hyaline_," Peter said thoughtfully.

"Where'd that come from?" Edmund asked skeptically.

"Lucy." Peter said.

"Since when did you and Lucy have heart to heart talk about Narnia's future navy?" Edmund asked.

"We didn't," Peter laughed. "Remember the little toy boat that father made her two years ago for her birthday?"

"Oh, I remember," Edmund said. "She named it _Splendor Hyaline, _didn't she? I wonder if it means something. Hyaline, I mean."

"It means something to her."

"That's all that counts."

"Certainly." Peter said, then grinned, "I looked it up in the dictionary to see if it meant anything."

"Did it?"

Peter laughed again, "It's from Greek and it literally means something with a glass like appearance. In medicine it's a kind of shiny cartilage, it's the type you find at the end of bones. Don't tell her I found that out."

"Don't worry." It was Edmund's turn to laugh, "She must have been reading the index of father's medical book."

The _Griffon _overtook the _Unicorn_ with a bone in her teeth. The water churned under her forefoot as she drove into the swell. It curled past her smooth hull in a long wave, the light reflected off the lapping waves painting strange patterns on the white paint.

"There's a bit of motion, isn't there," Edmund said, grabbing a deadeye next to him.

"Yes," Peter said, "It doesn't bother you, does it?"

"Why should it?" Edmund asked. "We've been in worse in the channel. Remember the time we felt our way into Maldon Water in a fog?"

"Too well," Peter said. "I think father nearly had a heart attack."

The sun rose and they went below to eat breakfast. Halfway through, a school of dolphins was sighted and they lowered a dingy to see if they were talking. They were, and they said that the _Sphinx_ had sailed south, towards Calormen.

The _Unicorn_ came alongside for orders and King Lune called for every inch of canvas to be set. They fairly flew.

~o*o~

Who first captured the wind?

In ancient Greece, Athena gave Bellerophon a magical bridle and with it he captured Pegasus, the silver horse of legend. The modern mariners did not have magical bridles, but they had rigging, singing in the sunlight and like the great, white wings of the flying horse, their sails painted the sky.

From ancient times, there had been a lust of the sea. Like a live thing, the waves ebbed and flowed at the edge of continents, ever changing, but ever the same, the breathing of the earth. The Egyptians sailed their reed boats in the Mediterranean with the Greeks in their triremes and the Romans in their swan headed trading vessels. Epic battles were fought on the sea; at Salamis, at the Aegates Islands and in the Channel when the outgunned British fleet turned to face the Spanish Armada.

How many measured their lives by the trade winds that rushed down the backs of the Americas? The whales migrated every year and with them went the ships, to India, China, Guinea and back home again to rest in the clear water of their harbors.

They had not captured the wind, but they lived and died by it.

It was the same here, in this place. Somehow Peter and Edmund felt a strange kinship to the sea. In England you can never live more than forty miles from the sea and coming down to the ships had breathed a new life into them.

Three days later, the Archenlanders overhauled the Calormene vessel.

They could see her now, her sails white puffs on the horizon. Peter and Edmund stood on the foredeck with King Lune, their eyes straining to watch the distant ship. The mournful wailing of wind whistling through the rigging came above them and they glanced up to see the great, bellying, grey canvas of the headsails and the tremor of the stays as they shivered from the wind and the steady crashing as the _Griffon _met the seas.

"Wind's coming." King Lune said quietly beside them. The wind was indeed coming. A long line of white capped sea rolled towards them, shoved along by the wind like icing on a cake. Then it hit them.

_Griffon _took it in her stride and heeled over to starboard. They reached out for something to steady them, but they were on the starboard side of the mast and there was nothing between them and the bulwarks. Treve, who had been sitting at their feet, slid helplessly along the deck until Peter stuck out his foot and caught him before he was swept out the scuppers.

"Thanks!" Treve gasped.

"My pleasure," Peter said.

"With this wind we'll catch them in no time," King Lune shouted over the roar of the wind with joy. They could hear the shrilling of the boatswain's whistle and the stamp of many feet as the sailors leapt into the rigging to trim the sheets. _Griffon _gathered speed. "Our sailing master is the best in Archenland."

Slowly, relentlessly the _Unicorn_ and the _Griffon_ ran the _Sphinx_ down.

"We'll be in spitting distance of them soon," Lord Twang commented.

The _Griffon_ had six bronze cannon aboard, intricately made in the forges of Narnian dwarves, the _Unicorn_ had sixteen. Peter and Edmund watched as they were loaded and run out, then fired.

The first shot spun harmlessly over the _Sphinx's _bow.

The battle that followed was unlike any Peter and Edmund had ever imaged. The decks were poured down with sand and water and buckets of water were pitched over the straining sails; powder monkeys were everywhere, their faces blackened as the cannons fired until they were glowing red. Rigging locked as _Unicorn_ came alongside_ Sphinx_ and Peter and Edmund watched as they swung around in the boiling sea, their sails shot to ribbons, blood pooling on the decks.

Grappling hooks cut the fog of gunpowder, tangling in the rigging of the enemy vessel and tying the two inseparably together as _Griffon_ came in on _Sphinx's_ other side.

"We're going to board her in a moment, Edmund."

Edmund realized that Peter was shouting to make himself heard above the noise and he looked up, seeing that both their faces had been blackened by powder.

"For heaven's sake, don't get yourself killed. I don't think I could put up with it a second time."

Edmund replied by pulling Peter under his shield. The _Sphinx_ loosed a sheet of arrows and he heard them rattling on the deck, bouncing past their feet, imbedding in his shield.

"Don't worry, Pete," Edmund said, standing up straight again. "I'm going to be too busy making sure _you_ don't get killed."

Peter grinned and punched him in the shoulder.

"This is it."

Edmund found that battle wasn't at all like he expected. The last moments before they boarded her, Peter told him to stick close and then they were in it. Edmund was attacked by a chap with a knife in his teeth and an evil looking nicked cutlass. It wasn't frightening, it wasn't even fast. The man slashed at him, but it seemed to be almost slow motion and Edmund disarmed him without thinking.

It seemed that it was over too quickly. In the grey smoke that rolled over the tangle of shredded rigging and splintered wood that littered the deck they saw the flash of a torn white flag waving frantically from the foredeck.

Peter and Edmund reached it first.

"Where is Lord Bar?" Peter asked, Rhindon's point on the neck of one of the Calormens that knelt on the deck, his hands clasped behind his head. He pointed a shaking finger and they saw Lord Bar himself, dead on the deck, an arrow through his throat.

"They have surrendered the ship," Peter said, turning to King Lune as he leapt through the smoke like a madman.

"Good! Good!" King Lune cried. "Now we must find my son!"

~o*o~

Prince Cor was never found. The shattered hull of the _Sphinx _was searched from stem to stern, but no sign was found but the knitted cap he had been wearing when he was taken. A ship's boat was missing, the lanyards slashed and they sailed along the coast searching for it.

At last, three Calormen galleons demanded that they leave Calormen waters and only then did they return home.

When they reached Cair Anvard again, King Lune sent an embassy to the Tisroc of Calormen to demand the return of his son. The Tisroc was very understanding and sympathetic, but declared that he was oblivious to the actions of Lord Bar.

"Lying, of course," Edmund said one day as he stood in Equus' small study in Cair Anvard. "We had plenty of information on Lord Bar to prove it."

Equus looked up from his tall desk, his grey eyes sharp as he studied Edmund's face. "Why is it that you wished to speak to me? You have sought me out for some reason."

Edmund shrugged and threw himself into a chair and Equus turned to face him, his arms crossed.

"Sometimes I wonder if this Aslan really exists, if there really is a greater being then us all," Edmund said at last, looking up into Equus' face. "How can he allow such evil to go on? First Deidre dies, then Cor is stolen. King Lune is only a shell of what he once was.

"I feel…" he hesitated, then continued. "I feel as though her life was exchanged for mine. If Susan had only been there…"

There was silence as Equus turned to look out the window, silhouetted by the gray light that streamed onto the wood floor.

"The evil in this world was not Aslan's doing," Equus said, turning to look at Edmund again. "He would have been in his rights to destroy his creation and start over. When there is a flaw in a bowl, the master potter always breaks it and begins anew. But he did not; he gave us a chance to be more than we are; so far we have failed miserably."

"Perhaps there is no meaning after all," Edmund said hopelessly. "Perhaps we are just a group of ants fighting between anthills with no purpose or reason."

"That argument is too simple," Equus said, stamping his hoof. "If the whole world has no meaning, we should never have found out that it has no meaning: just as, if there were no light in the world and therefore no creatures with eyes, we should never know it was dark. "Dark" would be without meaning."

Edmund was silent.

"Soon, you will meet him," Equus said. "Then you will understand the meaning."

* * *

Eustace had found a magnifying glass.

He didn't know where it had come from, or why it was there and he had been half joy, half fear when he had seen it lying on the floor in a dusty, cold, forgotten part of the castle. He had taken it outside almost at once, going first to the statues to peer at them through the glass. Suddenly, vividly they came into stark focus in minute detail. He could see the course of every stone hair, the curve of the line at the corner of the lion's eye, the points of the claws on the gryphon.

Then a snowflake had fallen on his sleeve and he magnified it as well.

In Oxford, the snow had always fallen in late December or January, drifting down to dust the road, later to be swept away into the gutters and left in brown heaps on the sidewalks; something to step around, not admire.

The snowflake pierced him to his soul. It was crystalline, clear, ornate, faceted like a diamond, sharp as the point of a sword, delicate as a feather. Another fell beside it, the same, yet wonderfully different. Billions of them would fall before the day was out, yet they would all be as different as night from day.

For a long time, Eustace had thought of snow as a curse, coming down to smother everything in cold and white. Each flake was so tiny it could barely be seen, yet the hidden beauty was there if one only looked.

* * *

**Author's Note:** My apologies for not posting this on Thursday; Rose has been out car shopping for two straight days. We test drove so many I can't remember which was which, but fortunately Rose did and has made her decision. :)

Hope you're still all enjoying the story. I'm really sorry for making you all wait so long for replies to your reviews and PM's, I hope you'll forgive me.

~Psyche

**Production Note:** The filming of the sea battle was quite a challenge; fortunately no ships were harmed in the making. The cast and crew gathered for a late night party yesterday to celebrate yet another turning point in the story. Hold on to your hats, because it's back to Narnia! Rose is complaining, because now she has to get us all back over the boarder and _Treve lost his passport!_


	21. The Lion's Call

The Lion's Call

* * *

_God's promises are like the stars; the darker the night the brighter they shine. _

~ David Nicholas

* * *

With strong steady wing beats, she circled.

The courtyard swung below her, moonlight glittering on damp cobbles as the wind whistled through her feathers. Slowly, she drifted down, her four hooves touching the paving stones neatly.

She shook herself, mane rippling, as she walked slowly to the fountain and lowered her muzzle in to the crystal water. She drank deeply; it had been a long flight.

~o*o~

Fifteen minutes later Peter and Edmund reached the Council chamber. Silence fell when they appeared at the top of the steps, made their way down and took their seats. Susan and Lucy were already there and Peter vaguely wondered how they got there first when they usually took the longest to dress.

"Your majesties," Equus took a step forward, "a visitor has arrived with a message, but she says she will only say it to you."

"Where is she?" Peter asked.

Then, like a white ghost, beautiful and gentle, something only from a faerie tale stepped into the circle of light.

It was a horse with wings as strong and white as a swan's.

"I am Odette," She said softly, "are you King Peter, Queen Susan, King Edmund and Queen Lucy?"

"We aren't exactly kings or queens yet, madam," Peter said.

Odette let out a gentle horsy laugh, "you are the ones I seek. I am a messenger from Aslan."

At the name everyone rose and stood looking at her.

"Here is the thing I was to say," Odette went on, "Romandue, Aslan's star is in the sky, he has been sent to lead you to Narnia. You are to meet Aslan there."

A breathless silence followed.

"Do we start at once?" Peter asked half standing.

"Do you see the star?" Odette asked.

All eyes turned to the circular windows set high in the curving wall. The night was black, almost burning black and there… piercing them like a sword, was a star they had never seen before.

"There it is!" Susan breathed, the first the break the silence.

"We start!" Peter cried leaping to his feet. The warlords were standing, watching him eagerly as he turned to face him. "Assemble your warbands! We march!

All around them, the warlords bowed and turned away to go up the steps to the door, excited voices ringing in that great high hall with the round windows streaming starlight down on them. They poured out in a stream, men and beasts, moonlight soaking into their rippling coats and embroidered brocade.

At last only the four children and King Lune remained.

"It is time, then," King Lune rose and looked at them, "I have been greatly honored and indebted to your presence, more then you know. I hope that we shall be as good allies as we were friends."

"Of course," Peter said, leaning across the table to clasp his hand firmly. "But we shall always be friends."

~o*o~

Treve had been running errands since night, his tail waving proudly in the air; now the sun rose in glorious splendor, red as copper, warm as a ball of fire. It looked down and saw Cair Anvard, a whirlwind of activity. They had been ready for so long and now, at last, the time had come.

Peter and Edmund had already ridden in company with the lords of the council to assemble the warbands. Susan and Lucy, on the other hand, were on their horses in the courtyard, watching as a long line of wagons were loaded with supplies.

"Hullo Treve!" Lucy called as he trotted importantly by, but he couldn't stop. He was in much too much of a hurry. Excitement shot through him and he could barely keep from shivering with it.

This was what they had been living for these past years, this was the thing that they had hoped and dreamed for, prepared for and yes, even died for. He remembered his parents talking about it late at night when the winter blew with unbridled fierceness down the pass and he used to feel the chills then, though not from cold.

He had to stop, one paw curled under his downy chest to cement in his mind once again that this was him and he really was part of it.

High above him, Lord Flavis turned to face Susan and Lucy and Treve pricked his ears forward to listen.

"We are ready to roll; I only need your permission to start."

_Oh, what excitement!_ Treve thought and wondered if he would be able to contain himself.

"Of course, you may start at once," Susan said, giving her bay mare, Mia, a nudge and riding towards the gatehouse, Lucy beside her. The steady clopping of horse's hoofs and the creak of the supply wagons followed them as two centaurs fell in step ahead of them, the banners they held streaming in the wind. One was purple with a white swan; it was Susan's flag, a symbol of music, gentleness and fidelity. The other was Lucy's flag; it was a white rose on a green ground, symbol of purity, humility and happiness.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lucy saw a little red streak tearing madly around and around in circles, yapping in excitement. "It's Treve!" she said with shock.

Susan glanced over her shoulder, "Poor little fellow, he's had a streak more excitement than is good for him. He'll get it out, don't worry."

It was a beautiful day, a glowing day. The fields were abloom with poppies, dancing as the clouds moved overhead, driven by the wind that rippled the fields, hair, banners, even the shadows. The rising sun had made the world flush with that golden, long shadowed freshness only seen in the morning.

They rode down through Anvard.

The people of the town poured out of their houses, cheering Susan and Lucy and running alongside the wagons. Someone shoved a bouquet of flowers into Lucy's hands and there seemed to be flower petals everywhere, catching in Susan's long dark hair as the sun caught flashes of fire in it. Under her steadying hand, her horse arched her neck and pranced, seeming to dance in the sunlight.

They reached the outskirts of town and saw the combined army waiting for them on the road. The supply wagons took their places at the back of the procession and Susan and Lucy urged their horses forward to ride with Peter and Edmund.

Lord Peridan was at the very front, on a massive chestnut charger, the great Narnian banner held, streaming, in his hand as the army marched away with measured step. The crowds were still running with them and flowers fell like snow spiraling around them.

"This isn't a wedding!" Martin said angrily as a rose hit him on the shoulder.

Edmund laughed, caught a lily in mid air, leaned forward and tucked it into Umbra's bridle.

"I hope they haven't striped all their gardens," Susan said worriedly.

"How did they know we were leaving?" Lucy asked.

"Everyone knows now," Peter said, "I wouldn't be surprised if even the Witch knows."

The road stretched before them like a twisted golden snake, threading through green fields and cool forests, running beside stone walls and crossing laughing streams. They would not reach Narnia until the next day.

The Centaurs and Fauns warmed up their pipes and drums, then started playing a traditional Narnian marching song. It was the sort of tune of which you never got tired. The kind that you almost forgot was playing, but shot through your veins and made you keep time no matter how tired you were. It made you think of a deep green forest in the middle of summer, where you kept seeing glimpses of nymphs and dryads, beckoning through the trees. It was a secretive impish tune that made you want to dance along.

~o*o~

Coppell twitched and snuggled deeper into her heather bed.

She squeezed her eyes closed.

The sound of pipes and drums thrummed into her head and she opened her eyes again. There really were pipes playing outside!

Coppell leapt to her feet and darted out of the front hole of the den. Night had fallen two hours ago and it was dark. She paused with one paw cocked to smell the air, then she scampered forward again. A minute later and she came out of the woods. Down below her in a little valley was the Narnian army camped for the night.

She trotted down the slope and found herself among the tents. Everyone had gone to sleep except the guards, but she had no trouble slipping by them.

Coppell had never been in a camp before, let along the camp of an army and she was thrilled by all the tents, carts and picketed horses. The tents seemed to go on forever, rows and rows of them!

Like a small shadow, she slipped into the back of one of the wagons.

No one would notice her.

She fell asleep thinking about tents.

~o*o~

"Lucy," Susan shook Lucy's shoulder, "It's time to wake up."

Lucy opened her eyes and saw Susan's dark shadow struggling with the darkness as she attempted to fasten up her dress. The soft touch of the cool night air breathed into the tent, sending the tent flap rippling aside to reveal a patch of blue-black sky, still prickled by a scattering of stars.

"What time is it?" she asked, rolling out of her blankets.

"Four," Susan said, "Peter wants an early start."

Lucy, with Susan's help, wriggled into her dress and cloak, then snatched up her bow and went outside. The camp was very dark, but as she looked up she saw the edge of the sky gleaming with light as if it had been dipped in gold dust. The dark shadow of her horse whickered softly and Lucy reached out to put her hand on the flutteringly warm nose of her gray mare.

"Hello, Lu!" Lucy looked over her shoulder and saw Edmund with one hand coiled through his horse's dark mane.

"Good morning Edmund!" Lucy said, standing on tiptoe and throwing Rhoslyn's saddle blanket on her back with difficulty. Grinning, Edmund swung the saddle up after it.

"When are we starting?" Lucy asked, pulling a strap through a buckle, fumbling, because of the dark.

"Not until all the tents are back in the carts," Edmund said, "not for at least half an hour."

There was a rustling and Susan stood next to them, still running a comb through her long dark hair.

"Oh, it's so bright!" Susan said looking up at the sky.

They all looked up then, to stare at Aslan's star, shimmering brighter than any other star in the sky.

"It looks like the morning star in our world," Susan said.

"What's the morning star?" Lucy asked looking up at her.

"Venus," Susan said, "you can see it in the morning, just when all the other stars are disappearing."

They stood, watching it for a moment longer.

"Good morning," Peter's voice came from above them. They looked up to see him on Ares, holding the stallion in check, "All ready to depart?"

"Almost," Susan said looking over at their tent as it collapsed and was pounced on by a bunch of exuberant dwarfs, "We have yet to saddle the horses. Or at least," she added, glancing at Lucy, "I have yet to saddle my horse."

"We were just looking at Aslan's star," Lucy said, "how beautiful it is."

Peter looked up at it, and spoke softly to Ares as the horse fidgeted and pawed the ground, his mane rising and falling like a black wave.

"Yes," Peter said, "aren't you all glad I got you up so early? It doesn't look as beautiful during the day."

Edmund grimaced and Susan smiled.

"I love morning, especially early," Lucy said in a dreamy voice, "It's so quiet and peaceful. Especially the dew, I love the dew just when the sun comes up and everything looks like it's sheathed with diamonds."

"Well," Peter said, "we won't be seeing that today, I hope to be over the pass before the sun comes up."

"Well at least we'll see the snow in early morning light," Lucy said, "that's almost as good."

~o*o~

It was cold in Narnia, far colder than Archenland. They could feel it almost as soon as they were on the pass. Air became harder to breath, faces tingled and grew numb and everybody became thankful for the heavy cloaks that had felt so hot under the spring sun in Archenland.

Anyone who was riding felt it more than those walking. Lucy's feet went numb and Susan made her walk. The Narnian musicians still played dutifully on, despite numbed lips and slight pauses for flexing cold fingers.

Peter called a halt and they watched the moonlit snow give way for yards and yards beneath them, bursting loose like a tide and surging down the mountainside like the white maned sea. It swept on, leaping up to smother and crush trees and turn to mist in the air. This was the power of snow.

"I wonder if it will ever be summer again," Lucy said, as Peter gave the signal to continue.

"I hope it will," Susan said. "I'm sure it will, if we can overthrow the Witch."

"May I get back on Rhoslyn?" Lucy asked.

"I suppose," Susan said, helping Lucy to remount. A moment later, she remounted herself. It was so bitterly cold, a cold no one could understand unless they had felt it. She had been shivering uncontrollably for a long time now and the sun's blinding rays seemed to mock her.

But, she was happy. It was an odd feeling and had been growing on her for some time now. Susan was not one for wild emotions, yet, as they rode along here, she felt a strange elation, a strange belonging to the land. Though her time in Narnia before had been so brief, she felt a sudden, overwhelming happiness to be back. This was her land.

She caught Edmund's eyes in the twilight and knew by his face that he felt the same.

There was something mysterious in the air that no one could place, perhaps the trees sighed, or the snow sang, or the stars that twinkled at them merrily from the heavens spoke, but a shiver rippled through the ranks, and it was more than just cold.

Everyone stared into, out over the great cascading planes, waiting for something to happen, something to break the suspense. They felt the hafts of their weapons and stared vainly into the dark, searching. Perhaps the wolves would attack, or maybe they would come across something more ferocious.

It was as if something was teetering on a table, on the verge of tipping off the edge. As they came down into the foot hills, the horses plunging through the snow and the trees growing sparse around them, it happened.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I am really sorry I haven't replied to all your PM's. I have assignments that need completion and I've been ill on top of that. I'm finding myself with very little time. Everything you have all said is very important and I fully intend to write back when I locate some time (I knew I put some somewhere...I just can't remember where).

Anyone else ever read _Evelina_ by Frances Burney?

~Psyche

**Red Alert!** We have opened a Deviant art account under the name 'Rose-and-Psyche'! We'll be updating fairly regularly with new drawings and sketches. Hope you enjoy them! You can find the link to our page on our profile.

**Production Note:** The cast and crew are currently working in sound stages. We have relocated to Middle Earth, because none of the private film companies in Narnia had big enough accommodations for the scale of our production. Gandalf has agreed to turn the Rivendel set into Cair Paravel for the duration of our stay. Treve found his passport; _he reportedly buried it in the Cair Anvard garden for safe keeping!_


	22. The Breath of Life

The Breath of Life

* * *

_You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body._

~ C.S. Lewis

* * *

Coppell had never been so excited in her life. She pressed her eye against a crack in the cart to see what was happening and was thrilled to see that they were in Narnia already. She stared with awe at the plains of snow and ice. She had never seen so much snow, so much ice. It was beautiful, stunning; no words would describe it.

It was exciting being in an army, she decided. Once the cart she was in slipped sideways and she and the sack next to her had a serious dispute about who should be where she was. She finally convinced it to stay put and peered back out of the crack.

Once she even saw Treve trotting importantly by with official orders from the head of the column. How she wished she was Treve! How exciting it must be!

~o*o~

At first they hardly knew what it was, it was so high, so distant.

It was silvery, bright, shot through with fire; like fingers of molten silver and tendrils of gold. Lucy, afterwards, always described it as singing, but it could hardly be called singing. It was music, the sweetest music they ever heard, a music that echoed in their dreams years afterwards and sang in their hearts when at last they lay on their death beds. It was nothing a human voice could make, it was nothing an instrument could make; it was wild and ethereal.

They almost thought the stars sang.

The high notes, or voices, or stars were joined by something lower, clearer, golden. Burning green-blue light danced across the darkness, then vanished as a deep, red symphony of brilliant colors murmured in the east.

Then, as the edge of the sun appeared and spread its rays over Narnia, the singing of the stars began to fade and another voice joined that of the sun. It was warmer, deeper, wilder; it sent a shock through them and rooted them in place. The face of the sun at last cleared the horizon and sent its bursting rays dashing across the gleaming snow, to touch it alight with morning fire. The land was deathly beautiful and so bright it nearly blinded them.

The horses were snorting, dancing in place, their ears pinned against their heads as their riders held them in check.

"What's happening?" Lucy cried, for the first time finding her voice and trying to hide the edge of hysteria in it; Edmund soundlessly caught her reaching hand and squeezed it in his own.

"I don't _know_," Susan exclaimed, trying to calm the twittering Chibb on her shoulder.

"Has it something to do with the Witch?"

"I don't know," Susan said again, "look!"

A mist was beginning to hover over the snow. It grew thicker, rising like a fog to melt the trees in shadow and get up their noses like steam from very hot water. It was beautiful and golden, saturated with sun shafts that slanted through it.

Next to them, a fir tree suddenly shook itself like a wet dog, ridding itself of years of snow and ice. All around it, as if spurred on by its daring, other trees followed its example, bursting free of breastplates of ice and throwing their greaves to the ground.

"The snow is melting!" Peter gasped.

Melting snow rained down from the trees above and the carthorses began to snort, pawing the ground, their eyes rolling in their heads as they were bathed in that cold, warm breath of melting snow. The banks of snow were melting away, vanishing into mist the way clouds vanish from the tops of mountains when the wind blows.

Peter's horse reared, squealing with fright, falling sideways as Peter tried to regain control of him. The fear was infectious, rippling through the horses. They plunged and reared, churning the ground into a mire. Then, as Ares, Peter's black horse, reared and corkscrewed, Peter lost his balance as he knew he would and slipped sideways, landing on his face in the mud. Laughing he rolled over and watched in awe as a tiny green shoot shot up in front of him and suddenly twisted into flower, twitching as it grew.

"I have a feeling that wasn't on purpose," Edmund said swinging down from his horse and hauling Peter to his feet.

"Stop grinning," Peter laughed, smearing Edmund's face with a handful of mud.

"Peter! People are watching!" Susan gasped.

"Right, got to be serious," Peter struggled forward, wallowing to reach where his horse stood, now calmly nibbling the buds off a tree.

The green shoots of Snowdrops and Crocuses leapt from the ground, covering the melting snow with a mist of color. The trees seemed to be twisting with the singing, almost dancing; Lucy looked around to see a tree that had seemed dead suddenly burst into a fragrant mist of pink flowers. Bright green moss grew up the sides of trees and tiny green leaves unfurled themselves in a glory of green. The grass twitched and twined its way through clumps of ice, until the snow looked like it was tinted green.

They came out of the wood and found themselves riding over a ridge to see Narnia stretching before them in a glory of living. Grass was growing up the countryside at a ferocious rate and streams of melting snow rolled down the hillsides toward the Great River, which was bursting from its icy prison with volcanic force, shooting geysers of white water heavenward with a surge of ecstasy. There were sounds like artillery fire; a steady thunder that was shaking the earth as the ice burst and drifted out to sea, pale icebergs in the blue.

Below the mighty roar of the distant Great River, they could hear the laughing of brooks, the joyful calling of birds and the soft whispering of the spring wind. They were caught up in it, hardly noticing that the singing was beginning to fade and rumble below their feet, deep underground. Now all of nature seemed to be singing with a different tune.

Next to them, a newly made brook was running and leaping downhill into a pool. Lucy stared at the water, for she was almost sure she had see a girl in it, all clothed with blue.

It _was_ a girl.

She seemed to be made of water and she laughed and waved when she saw them, then she scooped her cupped hand into the water and showered them with sparkling droplets.

There were more people, slim, willowy and tall; seeming to be dancing in and out of the trees themselves, their faces transfigured with wild joy, their hair twining with the branches until it seemed that they danced with the trees…that they _were_ the trees.

Then came the animals.

A panther slipped out of the forest and strode next to Edmund's horse. Old animals who never thought they would see spring again ran alongside the army. Young ones who had never seen spring stared with wonder at delicate flowers and slender birches.

And Lucy, with a cry of delight, threw herself into Bruinhild's embrace when the great bear stepped out of the trees to walk with them.

Amongst all this beauty and color Aslan's star still shone, laughing above them and still urging them onward.

~o*o~

Susan dismounted again and walked, loving the soft feel of the grass and wildflowers under her boots as Mia's long black mane whipped in the breeze and mingled with her hair. It felt odd to be down on the ground again after being on horseback so long. Lucy had decided to walk too and asked Susan to lead Rhoslyn and she romped with Bruinhild, laughing as the bear told her yet another story, the tale of Rose Red and Rose White. A moment more and Peter and Edmund dismounted to get the kinks out of their legs from the endless riding.

"I wonder how much further we have to go." Lucy asked.

"I don't know," Peter said, trying to wipe mud off Edmund's face. "We have to climb that hill first. The star is almost directly over it."

"What is that hill?" Susan asked, turning to the lords that were assembled around them. "Does it have a name?"

There was silence as they looked at the hill. It was a small one with a bare top where the trees suddenly ended.

"That is the hill of the Stone Table," Equus said at last, his voice heavy.

"The Stone Table?" Edmund asked, looking around, "Do they eat dinner there?"

"No, your majesty," Equus laughed, "it was something the Witch placed there when she first took Narnia. It is for sacrificial purposes."

"Sacrifices?" Susan shivered, "I don't like the sound of that."

"No one does," Equus said.

They reached the foot of the hill and found themselves among the trees again. It was steep, rocky, very unlike the other hills they had climbed, and it had a dark, cold feeling, despite the new life that sheathed everything else. The branches of the trees had only just budded and no flowers bloomed and they felt, with a shiver, that it was an evil place. The star stared down at them almost overhead, moving high above the empty branches of the trees.

The trees began to thin again and they found themselves out in the open at the very top of the hill. From here, they could see the world stretching away all around them and away to the east, the sea, a flat sheet of silver, sparkled under the sun. In the very center of the clearing, standing stones had been raised, towing stark and strange against the blue sky as they ringed around a great, gray slab of stone.

"That is the Stone Table," Equus said.

It was built of marble and deeply carved with beautiful designs and strange writing. It crouched on the ground, almost seeming ready to spring at them. The color that stained the smooth marble of it was rusty, hideous.

"How horrible," Lucy whispered.

They moved into the trees again and began the ascent of the hill. There were more trees and as the progressed, they grew taller and further apart, standing like the supports of a cathedral, shafts of sunlight streaming over their shoulders and dappling the forest floor with warm shadows.

The trees came to an end quite suddenly and they found themselves at the edge of a meadow. There, across it, a great camp was pitched. The tents were of gold and red and great Narnian banners fluttered in the wind. Soldiers, animals and wonderful beasts of every kind crowded among the tents and watched Peter's army over the distance that separated them.

The long grass rippled as a leopard streaked across the meadow towards to them.

"Majesties," he said, bowing before the four children where they stood next to their horses, "order your tents to be pitched here. Then, you four alone will come with me."

* * *

**Author's Note:** There is one verse that I associate with this chapter, here it is: "The voice of my beloved! Behold, he cometh, leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills. My beloved spoke, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone." ~Song of Solomon, KJV, 2:7-9, 11.

We're both sniggering hysterically at your reactions to Coppell...and she's _not_ a rodent.

Thanks to MCH for her work on the Production Note!

~Psyche

**Production Note:** A special addition multi-tool version of the White Witch's wand is available for pre-order. The tool includes a laser pointer for presentations at the Wizard's Club, a pocket knife for those "why did I forget my dissecting knife?" moments in life and, get a load of this, a sonic screwdriver (the White Witch apparently had a run in with a TARDIS during her brief visit in London). It should also be noted that, for obvious reasons, the stone feature of the wand has been disabled.

**A Note on the Production Note:** For some time now I've been meaning to ask a boon of my noble reviewers. Would it be permissible to use a title of one of your Narnian fanfictions, your name, or references to your fanfiction in a possible 'Behind the Scenes' look at 'The Once and Future King'?


	23. The Light and the Darkness

The Light and the Darkness

* * *

_Who is more foolish, the child afraid of the dark or the man afraid of the light? _

~ Maurice Freehill

* * *

They followed the leopard, wading through the knee-deep grass that separated the two camps, all lit with poppies and lupines and lavender shimmering in the wind. The soldiers that had lined the edge of the other camp gave way as the children approached, bowing as they passed and speaking among themselves as they continued on. There were many faces among them, but all were reverent and eager. All knew who they were.

The leopard lead on, threading his way through the tents, the warm sun dappling his back and rippling in his tawny fur. The tents had been arranged as they were in most army camps, like the spokes of a wheel to an open circle in the very middle. The walls of the tents were made of fine brocade, woven with silver and gold and lit with scenes of battles and hunts, dances and parades, all rippling in the wind as if the very figures were alive.

Creatures surrounded them, watching them keenly but making no sound. They saw the wind breathing through the feathers of the mythical flying horses, watched as the unicorns polished their spiraling horns on their coats and always, the sun reached down to touch the phoenixes with fire.

At last, the tents gave way and they came to an open place in the center. There, turning to look at them, the wind whipping his mane, was a lion.

The Lion.

Aslan himself.

There was silence as they stood staring at him and it seemed to them as they stood there that all the other creatures had faded away, that they were alone as he came softly towards them, meeting their eyes.

"I have waited, now you are here."

His voice was beautiful. When he spoke, Lucy saw a length of soft golden velvet, lovely to the touch and lovely to the eye. His voice was as deep and rich as the depth of a golden ocean at evening tide and there were tears in his eyes.

Lucy realized with a sudden constriction of her heart that he had been longing to see them far more than they had longed to see him.

"Peter… Susan… Edmund… Lucy," he spoke again, almost as if he were counting them again, just to make sure they were all there.

"Where is Eustace?"

They could see from the expression they read in his deep, beautiful golden eyes that he already knew what happened to Eustace.

"Sir," Edmund said at last. "I think we're all at fault."

"Please sir," Lucy whispered, "Can you save him?"

"I will do all I can," Aslan said, then looked at them each in turn, searchingly, his golden eyes seeming to see into their souls. "But I must warn you that he may not accept my help."

Then he shook his heavy mane and smiled, "Now the wait is over, the tears are dried, let the celebration begin."

"Aslan," Susan said, "it's wonderful to be with you at last."

"At last?" Aslan laughed like a rolling river in summer. "Do you think I would have let you come alone over mountains of gloom, through valleys of sadness, up ravines of fear? I have been beside you from the start, but you did not yet have eyes to see me. Now we are face to face."

"You mean?" Susan said, her mind turned back to a plane of snow stretching almost to the deep blue sky. In her mind's eye, she saw a line of footprints following theirs for as far as she could see. Then the wind blew, sweeping them away.

"Yes," he replied, "Those were mine."

"Then we did not ever have to be afraid, not if you were there all the time," Susan said suddenly.

"What were you afraid of?" Aslan asked quietly.

Susan hesitated; worry drifting fleetingly across her face, "I don't know… I was afraid of dying, I think; afraid of pain, sorrow and fear itself."

"I will never bring you up a path too steep or across a river too wide," Aslan said. "Let me carry you and I'll never let your feet touch the ground."

* * *

Eustace was in the garden when the breath of spring swooped down to touch him.

He was looking at the statues, admiring their perfection, his eyes running over the frozen ripple of their stony coats, watching as they seemed to move. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine them alive, turning to look at him, their eyes glowing with life.

But in his imagination, their expressions always turned angry and frightening as they looked at him… as if they knew.

He saw a bird come diving down to settle, feathers fluttering, on the head of a lion that was looking over its shoulder towards the entrance of the garden… and safety. Eustace hadn't seen a live bird for some time and as he crept closer he saw that it was a woodland thrush. He moved slowly, never making sudden moves until he was so close he could see the finest detail of each little brown feather.

Then it flew away.

He sighed and stood straighter, watching the tiny spec against the sky until it disappeared into the sun.

As he turned, a flash of green caught his eye and he stared as a tiny shoot suddenly split the cobbles under his feet and snaked its way up the lion's foreleg. It twined, curling through the stony mane, and with a last impish twist, buds swelled from it, uncurling into tiny damp leaves. As the end of the vine came to rest against the lion's forehead, Eustace saw a splash of blood crimson and like the full song of the thrush, a red rose suddenly twirled into flower.

Eustace stared at it, rooted to place; snow blowing off the roof of the castle was already settling in the crevices of its petals… but it was so alive, so perfect, like scarlet silk. Unbidden, his hand reached out to touch it, but the thorns tore his skin like cat's claws and he backed away again, content to admire its beauty from a distance.

It felt as though the thorns had gone into his heart and tears at last traced down his face. When he looked up again, _she_ was there, standing tall and beautiful beside him.

"We are going to war, Eustace," she was speaking, her voice as gentle as the wind that swayed the trees. "My wolves have told me that Aslan has come again to Narnia and that your kin have brought an army."

"Who is Aslan?" Eustace asked, half afraid that she would be angry with him.

She glanced down at him and it seemed to him that she was taller than he remembered.

"He is Evil," she said softly.

They heard the steady ring of hooves and Eustace saw the silver knight who had ridden beside her when he had first seen her. He was mounted on the white stallion and a green streamer tied to his upper right arm fluttered in the breeze. For a moment, Eustace wondered what was in that armor. Perhaps there was nothing under the lowered visor.

The wolves arrived then, pouring into the courtyard to stand at attention before their Queen.

The knight dismounted from his horse and as the white mare was led into the open, he lifted Jadis into the saddle. She gathered up the reins, her hand gently touching the white neck. The mare shivered.

"Come," she said, turning the mare. "Let us go. Walk beside me, Eustace."

Obediently he followed. His muscles had hardened from endless wandering in the corridors of her castle and he found it surprisingly easy to keep up with the slow footed gait of the horse.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked once.

"I am going to bargain with you," she replied. "Surely your kin want you back."

"I don't know about that," Eustace said. "They don't like me; they probably think I'd be better dead."

"Then I shall sacrifice you for victory."

Her words ought to have sent a chill down his spine, but they did not. Somehow, death did not frighten him… he considered himself already dead and the least it could do was release him from this strange, stumbling prison he had been in for the last few months.

It was then that spring burst into full throated song. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, but he felt it under his feet, the last lovely notes of the symphony the others had heard at dawn. As they reached the crest of the hill below the castle, Narnia suddenly spread out full before them, tumbling on, stretching for miles and curving up to the wild and wonderful mountains.

But it was _green_.

Green was leaping across the countryside like a galloping horse, clearing the streams, charging up the hills, at last to ripple under their feet. Eustace stared around himself as grass sprang up everywhere and flowers followed. Below them, the Great River had already broken its chains and the thunder of its course echoed beneath his feet.

Eustace looked up at the Witch and saw in her face an expression that chilled him to the bone.

"Let us keep on," she said softly.

* * *

**Production Note:** Aslan is not a tame Lion and consequently, he's not often on set for rehearsals, so we've taken to using a full seized plush version of him for our characters to speak to. When Aslan found out, he laughed and suggested we make a line of them and put them on the market. So, according to his wishes, an AslanTM Plush will be available for pre-order.

But, before you rush out and push that 'buy now' button, there are a few things you need to know about the new plush. I don't know if Aslan breathed on them when they first came out of factory, but they have the distressing habit of growing larger as their owners grow…they also never age; if you are playing with your AslanTM plush ninety years from now, it will look just as new as when you first bought it.


	24. Trickster

Trickster

* * *

_Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey. _

~ Lord Byron

* * *

Susan was awakened by the wind on her face and opened her eyes to see the tent flap stirring. Sunlight glowed through the brocade walls, painting curious shadows across the floor. It was late morning, she thought, it was day already. She looked over at Lucy's pallet and saw that it was already empty.

The noise of the camp had been muffled in the tent, but now as she slipped outside it hit her full blast. There was the piercing whinnying of horses, the clang, clang, clang of the metal workers mending damaged armor, the whack, whack, whack of troops practicing in the field; the shouts of an army.

Susan walked towards the woods, away from the noise. The long grass was beautiful, parting before her in a golden ripple. Then she was in the forest, her hand touching the rough bark of a tree as she heard the twittering of birdsongs, the buzz of insects and the distant laughter of a young voice. A small clearing opened before her and she ducked as an arrow whizzed over her head and hit a tree behind her with a thump.

"Susan!"

Susan looked up and saw Lucy running towards her with her bow in her hand.

"Are you all right?" she exclaimed, "I didn't know you were there!"

"I'm perfectly all right," Susan said. "You didn't expect me to come barging through."

Lord Twang swung down from a tree. "A most regrettable occurrence, your majesty!" he paused and bowed deeply, "I was merely continuing with her majesty's archery lessons."

"That is quite all right," Susan said graciously, tousling Lucy's hair playfully. Lucy made a face.

"Have you seen Peter?" Lucy asked.

"No."

"I did. He wouldn't talk to me," Lucy wrinkled her nose. "He seems terribly busy doing nothing in particular and Edmund's just as bad."

Lucy rambled on, but Susan hardly heard her. The sun seemed suddenly to be covered by a cloud and her ears pricked to the soft rustling of leaves; a stick snapped behind them and she saw Twang stiffen.

"You majesty," he said hoarsely, "Make all hast to a tree and take refuge."

"There's hardly any need of that," a harsh voice rang out and Susan and Lucy spun around to see two wolves slipping from the underbrush into the open air. Susan recognized the great black one as Fenris, but the other was a young, thin wolf that looked as though there were only bones under his gray hide.

Susan stared at them wide eyed, her hand closing around Lucy's wrist, then, as quick as a wheeling deer, she dragged her towards a tree, grabbed her around the waist and threw her, kicking, over a branch. Twang darted up after her, chattering furiously and Susan turned again to the wolves, slipping her dagger free of its sheath.

"Don't come any closer," She said clearly, the calmness of her own voice startling her. "Or, I swear, I _will_ kill you."

"My dear young lady," Fenris said, his eyes closing. "I really doubt it."

"Susan! Susan, climb the tree!" Lucy shrieked. "There's still time!"

Fenris came closer, circling and she circled with him, watching his muscles rippling under his deep, black coat. He was massive, his paws sinking into the grass as he walked, soft footed, studying her from the corner of a blue eye.

Then he struck.

He moved like lightning, streaking towards her, leaving the ground to beat her to her knees, his jaws open to rip out her throat. At the last moment, she twisted aside, stumbling and regaining her balance again, leaving the wolf with only a mouthful of her skirt. Lucy's scream seemed to have stuck.

Susan backed off again, breathing hard, the dagger gripped in her sweating hand. With all her heart now, she wished somebody would come.

"Lucy! Blow your horn!"

"I haven't got it with me!" Lucy wailed.

Fenris closed in again, expertly backing her towards the tree, trapping her between it and a growth of brambles. Her breath was coming in ragged gasps as she glanced once behind her, then dashed sideways as he lunged again. The thorn bush shook and began to howl.

He burst out of it, his eyes glowing with anger, his jaws gleaming as he snarled. Almost before Susan could ready herself he launched himself again, twisting in the air as she turned. He struck her solidly, leveling her to the ground with tremendous force, his heavy body pinning her down.

Blood rushed over her, she saw it soaking into her dress, the dark material turning darker. The horrible, sickly sour smell filled the air and with a cry, she wrenched her dagger free, letting loose another rush of blood.

Fenris twitched once, but his eyes were closed.

He was dead.

"Susan!" Lucy shrieked, struggling down from the tree and rushing to her sister's side. "Susan!"

"No," Susan said, trying to push the heavy body of the wolf away. "I'm still alive."

"You're still alive!" Lucy gasped, then choked on a sob. She buried her face in Susan's shoulder, clinging to her as if she would never let her go.

"Help me get him off me," Susan said.

"Yes," Lucy scrambled up and buried her hands in the deep fur, trying to haul the wolf away. At last, Susan squirmed free and shakily rose to her feet. There was blood over both of them now.

"That, your majesty, was magnificent," Twang said with grave respect, his bow was drawn his arrow pointed at the young wolf. "What shall we do with this one?"

Susan turned; she had forgotten the other wolf.

He lay on his back on the ground, all four legs in the air in a gesture of submission. His expression was positively ridiculous.

Susan wiped her forehead, unthinkingly smearing more blood on her face, then asked dully, "Who are you?"

"Loki," Loki replied.

"Not Shard's nephew?" Lucy asked.

"Most humbly," Loki said.

"Will you… will you come with us?" Susan swayed alarmingly and Lucy caught her elbow. "I think Aslan would like to meet you."

~o*o~

Peter had gotten up first that morning, long before the others were awake and had gone up the brow of the hill to look down the valleys towards the distant mountains in the west and the towering sky in the east, clear over the distant sea.

Aslan was standing on the crest, a dark form throwing a long shadow that seemed to stream out beyond him until Peter was not sure whether he was himself or his shadow. For a moment, Peter stood looking at him, half wishing that he could go towards him and half wanting to go back.

Then Aslan looked over his shoulder and Peter knew he couldn't go back. He swallowed and walked forward, plunging through the knee deep grass until he stood beside the Lion.

"Good morning, Peter," Aslan said cheerfully, turning to look again at the hills that tumbled away before them. "I trust you slept well?"

"Yes, very well," Peter replied, then took a breath and hesitated.

"You are fighting like a young colt," Aslan laughed. "Never be afraid to ask, I am at your disposal."

"Will you tell me what I want to hear, sir?" Peter asked at last.

"I might," Aslan said laconically. "Or I might not."

"Sir, why did you choose us?" Peter burst out.

Aslan turned to look at him searchingly, the light of the sun burning in his eyes. "Did I choose you? Or did you choose me?

"I call everyone, I beg them, I plead with them; I lay in their path and they trip over me. I spread glory around them and they look the other way. You did not dare not to dare; I called and you answered."

"Then it was my choice to enter Narnia?" Peter asked. "Weren't there easier ways in?"

A smiled curled up Aslan's face and his ear twitched, "You walked all the way around the wardrobe and you did not enter Narnia; only when you determined to open the door and find the truth of the matter did you discover it. Smashing the doors or trying to go through the back way would never have brought you here, though you may have gotten a fine bump on the head for your pains."

"Why couldn't we go back?" Peter asked. "The doors were closed then and we were trapped here."

"Once you have Narnia, you cannot lose her," Aslan replied. "Someday, you will return to your own world, but Narnia will shine in your heart. You will no longer be a citizen of that world, but a sojourner in a strange land. It will cause you pain, but in the end you will have joy. Have I told you what you wanted to hear?"

"I think you told him what he needed to hear," Edmund's voice said and Peter looked to see him standing on the other side of Aslan, on the shadowed side, looking towards the western mountains.

"They are hardly ever the same thing," Peter replied.

There was silence then as they looked down the slope of the hill to the forest that stood with solemn grace; trees like soldiers, shadows like capes thrown behind them, casting the land in darkness.

"I hate shadows," Edmund said abruptly. "I feel like they are liars, because they aren't really there and pretend to be something they aren't."

"Look at my shadow," Aslan said suddenly, turning to look at his own shadow where it streamed away on the ground to his left. "As the light strikes me, the place where I am not is darkness. Now look at me, as you see me now, I am only a shadow of myself. You are all shadows of what you could be, but are not yet.

"You cannot see anything without shadows," Aslan continued. "If there were no shadows in the world, the light would be too brilliant for your eyes. You are not yet ready for a place without shadows."

"Is there somewhere else, sir?" Edmund asked eagerly, his eyes shining with hope as he looked up. "A place without shadows?"

"My own country has no shadows," Aslan said. "But the people who live there can bear the light; they are no longer shadows of themselves, they have become what they were meant to be."

That was when they saw Susan and Lucy walking across the grass towards them, Twang and a young wolf trailing behind. Their dresses were soaked, their faces smeared with browning crimson and it took Peter a full second for the significance to sink in.

It was blood.

Edmund was already running towards them as fast as he could, his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Susan! What happened?" he was just in time to steady her as she swayed. "Sit down!"

She sat, sinking into the grass. Peter was there the next moment, grabbing first Lucy's hand, then holding Susan's face. "Where are you hurt? Tell me!"

"What happened?"

"We're not hurt!" Lucy exclaimed, at last making her voice heard. "Susan just killed a wolf, that's his blood, not ours."

"What?" Peter gasped. "When?"

"Just now," Susan said. "It's all right. Everything's all right."

Then she choked and buried her face in Peter's shoulder. Her stroked her hair, his hand infinitely gentle as he murmured comfort in her ear, just as he might have spoken to his horse when it was afraid.

Edmund had a hold of Lucy, nearly crushing her. She squirmed, trying to loose his hold.

"For goodness sakes, we're not _dead_ yet, Edmund!" she gasped.

"Sorry," Edmund said.

"And who is this?" Peter asked, turning to see Loki crouching on the ground; his hand moved slightly until it was resting on the hilt of his sword.

"Sire," the young wolf rolled over, all four paws in the air. "I am Loki. I don't know if you remember me. It might please you to know that the Witch has assembled a guard and made camp not far from here. Eustace is with her and the Witch herself is coming to your camp this afternoon."

"Loki!" Peter dropped to his knees and, not knowing what else to do, extended a hand. Loki placed his paw reverently in it and they shook firmly. "I'm honored to meet you, Loki."

Aslan who had been standing by, watching them, stooped towards Susan, "You are a lioness," he whispered, then turned to Loki, "Do you think you can show this son of Adam the way to the Witch's camp? There is yet time to rescue Eustace."

"Of-of course!" Loki exclaimed.

"Then go, Edmund," Aslan said, almost smiling. "Your horse is already saddled in the camp. Find yourself a dark cloak and rescue your cousin. Be seen yet unseen; let the shadows cover you."

"Of course," Edmund said, he was on his feet in a moment, racing to find his steed.

~o*o~

Loki moved like a wolf, low and streaking, twisting through the forest like a small shadow. Edmund leaned low over Umbra's neck as the horse dashed on, swerving to avoid the threes that leaned down over him. It seemed that their branches were not branches at all, but long twisted fingers, snatching at him as he passed and covering his path with fallen logs. But, Umbra ran easily and flew over underbrush and fallen branches like a stag.

Slowly, the forest opened and the sunlight finally touched the leaves underfoot. Ahead, Loki slid to a halt, ducking behind a tree and Edmund pulled up Umbra, to dismount and kneel next to him.

It was the camp of an army, small, yes, but still formidable; stretching from where they crouched, up a hill in rows of gray canvas. Edmund could hear the low murmur of many creatures gathered together in one place.

"It's only the castle guard," Loki whispered. "There's more on the way… and I mean a _lot _more."

Edmund found himself looking down at his ring, glimmering, on his thumb, gleaming with blue fire. It was as warm as his skin and he was accustomed to the feel of it. Quietly, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and Loki realized that he could barely see his face.

"Show me where he is," Edmund whispered.

"Aye, aye, sir," Loki replied mechanically. He took a deep breath, then stood and marched boldly out into the open, his tail poofing straight up in the air. Edmund took a deep breath, then followed silently, slouching until he was a formless shape under the cloak.

A large rat with a pike was marching towards them.

"Stand and be identified!" it called, brandishing the pike in Loki's face.

"Step aside vermin," Loki said, his voice dripping venom. "I am Loki, son of Fenris and he will be unhappy that you detained me. I have important information for the Queen."

The rat hesitated and Loki brushed past him, beckoning Edmund with a twirl of his tail.

The tents were ugly, and loathsome, each exactly like the last, not made of sunlight like the Narnia tents not a mile away. Edmund marked any difference to keep his bearings, but before long he was hopelessly lost. There were horrifying creatures crouching in the tents – hags, werewolves, Minotaurs – things that looked as if they were half dead already. There were others, misty creatures, even more strange as they seemed to appear and vanish at will. Then there were the talking beasts that had gone wrong; centaurs, bears, foxes, gryphons…every kind. It made Edmund's heart heavy inside him.

Loki rounded a corner and as Edmund followed, he saw two white horses standing close together, tied to a weeping tree. They seemed to shine like moonlight in that terrible place, a spot of purity amid the hideousness of the camp.

"There he is," Loki whispered and out of the corner of his eye Edmund saw the wolf melting into the shadows, sinking down to watch what he would do.

Quietly, Edmund drifted forward, a shadow in the sunlight; then at last he saw Eustace.

He was sitting under the shade of the trees, beneath the sleeping horses, drawing in a sketchbook balanced on his knees. Edmund watched him for some time, still circling like a mist until he was behind him. He could just see a stump of pencil in Eustace's hand as the head of a lion slowly took shape on the paper, first only a shadow, then gradually darkening until it almost seemed alive.

"Eustace," Edmund knelt down behind him, on the dying grass. His heart thumped wildly, wondering if it was too late. Perhaps Eustace was lost all ready and would sound the alarm. His mind flew bird like over the future; if he died, his brother and sisters would be heartbroken… but it was more than that; the forth throne would not be filled and all would be lost.

"Go away," Eustace snapped. "Can't you see I'm concentrating?"

"It's beautiful," Edmund replied.

There was silence and Eustace's hand ceased to move, the pencil tip hovering over the paper. His skin was smeared with lead where he had used his fingers to smudge the hatching into the paper.

"It is… isn't it," Eustace said at last. "But it won't be finished if you keep talking to me."

"I came to ask you a question," Edmund said.

"Spit it out."

"Do you want to leave this place?"

Everything seemed to hinge on that question. Edmund held his breath, watching and wondering as Eustace suddenly froze, staring blankly at the drawing. Edmund could not see the battle that raged within him, one half screaming and shouting for help, but the other half whispering softly.

_You want to leave… you know you want to leave._

"But I can't," Eustace said aloud.

"Yes you can," Edmund whispered. "All you have to do is stand up and walk away."

"No," Eustace said. "I can't leave her."

_Yes you can._

"Eustace, we haven't much time. You've got to come."

"Who are you anyway?"Eustace snapped, half standing up. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm Edmund, your cousin."

"Edmund?" Eustace sank down again, his face suddenly half hope, half fear as he sought Edmund's eyes in the shadow under the hood of the cloak.

"We want you back," Edmund said. "Will you come?"

_Yes! …Yes! …Yes!_

"I don't know!" Eustace gasped. "I can't make all of me go!"

"Yes you can," Edmund said. "All you have to do is stand up and come with me."

The silence stretched into a long moment, wrapping around Eustace and isolating him from everything but himself. He could not break his bonds.

"You'd better hurry!" an urgent voice said suddenly above them. "He's seen you!"

Quickly, Edmund looked up into the eyes of one of the white horses as it stood and stamped the ground.

"The Witch captured them when they were little," Eustace murmured, "he is Yce and she is Crystal."

"Will you help us?" Edmund asked.

"Of course!" they both whispered. "Hurry!"

Edmund stood, drawing his sword in the same movement, but already a minotaur was turning suspiciously towards them and a wolf was slinking gradually closer.

"Eustace you've got to make up your mind now!" Edmund exclaimed, seizing his cousin's hand. "Yes or no?"

Eustace stared, then unbuttoned his shirt and shoved his sketch book inside it, "Yes!"

"Now!" Edmund shoved his dirk in Eustace's hand. "Cut the horses free!"

He spun around, his cloak whirling around him as Yce's hind legs shot out, striking the minotaur as it charged. Edmund's sword flashed, curving through the air, sending the wolves back.

"Edmund?"

Edmund glanced over his shoulder to see that the horses had been cut free. Yce, the stallion had charged into the midst of the wolves, kicking and rearing; a white frenzy with mane and tail flying.

"Quick! On my back!"Crystal cried.

"Hurry Eustace! Jump!" Edmund cried, sheathing his sword and turning to grab Eustace by the leg and throw him over the mare's white back. He jumped, scrambling up after and throwing his leg over the other side. "Take a good hold of her mane, keep your heels down and sit up _straight_!"

Crystal spun around as Edmund tore Evyn loose of its sheath.

"Where shall I go?" Crystal asked.

"To the woods," Edmund cried, his sword sweeping down at the wolves that snapped at Crystal's heels.

Crystal shot forward like a white arrow, stumbling as the wolves twined between her legs. Then she ran, streaking like white fire, her mane whipping in their faces. Eustace held on as well as he could, trying to keep his balance, trying to sit up straight, but he was exhausted. Edmund pushed him forward so he was almost sitting on Crystal's neck, then took a death lock of his waist with his spare arm.

"After them! After them!"

Edmund looked back to see Loki running at the front of the pack of wolves, urging them on; it seemed almost like an accident when he tripped, fell and tripped up the wolf behind him, who in turn tripped up the next wolf, until several of them had fallen into a growling, biting heap.

"Hold tight!" Crystal cried grimly and Eustace watched with horror as a cart loomed up before them.

"Lean forward!" Edmund yelled, "No, no! _Don't_ lean on her neck! Hold onto her mane…tight!"

Edmund found himself juggling sword, Eustace and Crystal's mane all at once, then they felt Crystal gather herself. They were flying.

When they landed, Eustace was snapped backward and he and Edmund very nearly ended up in a heap on the ground. Edmund surprised himself at his own skill; only through his titan efforts to hold on and Crystal's wild swerves to balance them, did they remain on her back.

They reached the woods then, passing from shadow to shadow as yet again, the trees reached out to grab them. Edmund sheathed his sword and swung off Crystal as she galloped past Umbra.

"Hold on!" he shouted after Eustace, then swung astride Umbra and turned the horse after Crystal. He heard the bay of wolves and as he turned in the saddle, he saw them pouring between the trees like a silver wave.

They burst from the woods again, dashing across the heathery slopes. A great black horse swung around and Edmund saw that Peter had drawn his sword. As one man they wheeled their horses and charged back towards the oncoming wolves, their swords flashing as they swung, scything them down.

The wolves howled and cried, tumbling in heaps before the on slot of the charging horsemen. Peter laughed, twirling his sword through the air, his horse's black mane streaming as he ran.

"Right, then, laddie!" he called to Edmund. "Fall back!"

They spun their horses around again, urging them to catch Crystal as she flew over the ground, her mane rippling like the spring wind. As Peter came even with her, he reached out, seized Eustace by the belt and swung him over his saddlebow like a sack of meal.

They were still galloping when they entered the camp, charging between the tents; at last, Peter pulled up his horse and gently lowered Eustace to the ground at Aslan's feet.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Right now I am a little miffed. Today I had an in class debate I had to do. I did all the research and when it came down to it, my team members either didn't show up or didn't participate with anything remotely useful. It was me against the other team.

To put icing on the cake, I got my assignment back from the professor with a D on it. She said it would have been nice if I had, "used your own words." If I didn't write it…who did? I hope this chapter leaves you in a better mood than I am in.

~Psyche

The **Production Note** is on vacation in the Bahamas. Last time I heard, it was out windsurfing with dolphins. It is expected to be back next week (with a tan).


	25. Surprised by Joy

Surprised by Joy

* * *

_To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless-it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable._

~ C.S. Lewis

* * *

"She drove a shard into my heart. After that I grew cold and couldn't ever seem to get warm. It never hurt, but it was terrible all the same." Eustace bowed his head, wrapping his arms around his knees, then he looked up into the golden face of Aslan. "Why does it hurt now? Why is there such a raw pain in my heart?"

"She planted Anger and Bitterness in your heart, it was a fertile plane for it," Aslan bent his head and looked into his eyes. "But, I have planted a seed of my own. Its growth will depend on which plant you water the most. The seed she planted has already sprouted, but it can be killed and will be with the aid of my seed."

"What is your seed?"

"I planted Love."

"Will it bring me happiness?"

"No, Love does not bring Happiness, it is like a rose, more beautiful than anything," Aslan's voice was sad. "But like a rose, it has thorns. It brings Sorrow and Pain, sometimes even Death, but always it brings great Joy. In this world, Sorrow always walks hand in hand with Joy; Happiness is fleeting, but Joy is eternal.

"I want you to sacrifice your Anger and Bitterness. Whatever you do, make it an offering to me – the food you eat, the sacrifices you make, the help you give, even your suffering. Give me your Pain and Sorrow and I will fill that place that has always been empty."

"I've always wanted to know you, forever. I've always had a longing."

"Everyone is born with two things in his heart; a great fear of something dark and terrible that they cannot place and a deep longing for something greater and more beautiful than themselves; most find the one and not the other and that is the most grievous thing of all."

Eustace was silent, then looked up into the Lion's face and forced himself to speak, "Do you forgive me for what I did?"

"There is no Love without Forgiveness, and there is no Forgiveness without Love and I love you greatly," Aslan said softly and it seemed to Eustace that the Lion's eyes were as deep as a sea, as wide as a plane and as far seeing as a hawk's. "Eustace, I want you to love me with the love that I have for you."

"I will," Eustace said.

"Will you?" Aslan asked and his voice was so low it rumbled in the earth beneath their feet. "Because of what you did, a payment must be made. You sold yourself to the Witch and you must be bought back. I promise you now that your price will be paid and you will be purchased whatever the cost may be. You are mine and I will never give you back."

"Thank you," Eustace said, the tears starting to write paths in the dirt on his face.

"Now," Aslan said. "Your cousins are standing yonder waiting to see you. Go to them; they will not ask you about what has passed."

Eustace turned to see them, waiting for him, their faces grave and happy all at once and Aslan stood beside him, one great, powerful presence.

"Eustace," he said suddenly and Eustace turned to look into his face, because he wanted any excuse to look into the Lion's face.

"Very soon, those four will be crowned and made Kings and Queens of all Narnia; you will not…does that trouble you?"Aslan looked at him searchingly.

"No," Eustace said and knew in his heart that he spoke the truth. A few months before he would have killed to be king of somewhere…he had longed for it.

"It is a blessing, not a curse that I will not make you king…they do not yet know that their hardest days are ahead. They must face war and famine, death and joy; with high heads and strong hearts they must be at the forefront for all to see. Their mistakes will be magnified because of the power they will wield; the swords of their offices will hang above their heads with slender threads- but their goodness will be greater for this," Aslan continued.

"They will have glory," Eustace said.

"And so will you, but it will be a different kind. The best glory is the glory that only a noble heart can see," Aslan said quietly. "I will charge you now: even as they are kings and queens, you will be their first subject. When all fail them, you will be true. Where you once hated, you will love. Can you do this for them and for me?"

Eustace did not trust himself to speak, he only nodded, but in that nod was the conviction of his soul.

"I will call you steadfast," Aslan said so softly it was almost like the wind blowing, then he turned again and looked at Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy where they stood waiting and Eustace knew he must go. At last he squared his shoulders and walked to them, solemnly shaking each hand.

"I've seen Aslan," he said quietly, then swayed. Both Peter and Edmund were at his side to steady him. "Do you mind if I sit down?"

"Of _course_ not," Susan said, "_Lay_ down if you like; you must be exhausted. Have you eaten? You must have something. Come into one of the pavilions."

"I'm not really very hungry," Eustace said, sinking down next to her. "I say, that centaur, Martin, he is an odd chap. I've never seen one."

They all looked at him; there was so _much_ he hadn't seen.

"Have you met Flavis, or Equus?" Lucy asked, then lowered her voice, "What did you think of Aslan?"

"He's smashing," Eustace said.

"So he is," Edmund said, grinning.

There was silence.

"Look here, Eustace, there's something I've got to say…we've all got to say-" Peter began.

"If it's about me being absolutely beastly to all of you, you're right," Eustace cut in, "I was awful. Really terrible to live with and I'm most awfully sorry."

"Actually," Peter said, "I was going to say, _I'm_ sorry."

"All of us are," Susan said, "We gave up on you, we stopped trying, and I think that might be even worse than being beastly. Will you forgive us?"

Eustace stared at them a moment, then to all their astonishment, rubbed away a tear fiercely.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "Aslan said 'There is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love.' I think he's right."

~o*o~

Lucy found Eustace later, sitting on a rock in the middle of the camp, just looking. She didn't say anything as she climbed up to sit beside him, her arm around his shoulders. She had a small arm, but his shoulders were so thin she could feel his bones.

"What are you looking at?" she asked at last.

"That butterfly, just over there, resting on that tent peg. It's been fluttering all around here for some time."

Lucy looked and saw a butterfly with yellow brocade wings and black eyelet lace around the edges, fluttering like a wayward flower, dancing above one of the pavilions that was pitched nearby.

"It's very pretty."

"It's some sort of swallowtail, I should think," Eustace said, suddenly going scientific. "I feel like I've just gone through a metamorphosis."

"A what?" Lucy looked up.

"I feel like I've just gone from a caterpillar dragging myself around on my belly in the dirt to that… as if I could fly. My heart is so light I can't keep it down."

"You don't sound particularly happy," Lucy noted.

"I'm not… Aslan called it 'Joy'. It's a steady feeling of… I don't know… _hope_ and the knowledge that no matter what, everything is all right. I feel like I've been fumbling around a dark room and suddenly a door's been opened and there's light on the other side. Do you know that nice feeling you get sometimes after your family has had a great argument and suddenly there's a feeling of happiness everywhere and even Alberta's not being a pain…" Eustace trailed off, then looked closer at the butterfly as it winged overhead, the sun flashing past it. "_Papilionidae _I think. I had some in my collection."

"What's _Papilionidae_?" Lucy asked.

"It's Latin… the scientific name."

"Wouldn't it be funny if all the animals here at scientific names?" Lucy asked.

Eustace suddenly grinned. "Like what?"

"Oh, the minotaurs, for example."

"_Bovinae Gigantae_?" Eustace suggested.

Lucy giggled, "How about centaurs?"

"_Equo Homo_?"

"Those are good ones," Lucy said. "We'll have to write them down."

"Do you know what we're doing after this?" Eustace asked, turning to her. "Are you people just going to sit down on some thrones and the Witch will suddenly die, or do you have to dish her first?"

"I expect we'll be fighting a battle," Lucy said curiously. "But I don't know. It's all very exciting, anyway."

~o*o~

As Aslan had predicted, the Witch came that afternoon, mounted high on Yce, the white stallion. He had not escaped in the end.

"My hostage has been stolen," she said, her voice ringing clearly over all those assembled there. "He has bound himself to the other side. He has become a traitor, I will have him back."

"His offence was not against you," Aslan said quietly.

"Yet it was," the Witch said. "He has been a traitor to both sides. He is naturally mine and was mine before he was yours. This little human vermin sold himself to me before he ever entered this world. He is mine and I will have his blood. You know that unless I have blood the world will perish in fire and water."

"It is true," Aslan said, his voice soft and rich. Gracefully, he turned to the animals surrounding them, "fall back, all of you, and I will speak to the Witch alone."

They watched as the two stood some distance away, speaking quietly. The great Lion and the Witch facing each other a few feet apart, but really seperated by a void.

A long time seemed to pass as the clouds drifted over head, putting them alternately in sun and shadow, as their hopes rose and fell. Eustace sat cross legged with the others looking up at the sky and admiring it, Aslan had promised and of all those present, only he knew that all would be well.

Everyone started to their feet as they saw the Witch walk to Yce and mount him. She turned his head; a faint smile playing about her lips, then she looked back.

"How do I know this promise will be kept?" she called, her voice ringing.

"I cannot break my word," Aslan said flatly and all those assembled knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was true. If he broke it, he would cease to be himself.

Jadis nodded once, then urged her horse forward, through the camp, her wolves following, slipping around Yce's white legs like gray ghosts. Everyone watched them go silently.

At last, Aslan walked towards the five children where they sat on the grass, his head low, some unseen wind tossing his glowing mane.

"Eustace has been freed of his bond," he said heavily, "You four, Peter, Susan, Edmund and Lucy, come."

They followed him to a pavilion and slipped inside. He turned to look at them and they suddenly saw a great sadness in his noble face.

"There is a ridge of hills to the north, near the Great River. The largest of the hills is named Beruna. The Great River is at its narrowest at that place and the majority of the Witch's army will cross there. Tomorrow, send outriders to secure those hills and follow with your army. You must have the high ground, or all is lost. Protect your flanks at all costs.

"Call up your courage, be stronger than you have ever been before," Aslan continued. "Do not falter in the face of death, gird yourselves with your swords and shields and set your faces for war."

"But sir," Peter said quickly, looking up at him with alarm, "You will be there yourself?"

"I will not be there," Aslan replied.

* * *

**Author's Note:** It came to our attention a couple of weeks ago that some of our stories had been nominated for awards over at The Lion's Call. The awards ceremony will be held tomorrow night at 6:00 PM pacific time…it should be exciting!

Fortunately the Production Note is back from its vacation in the Bahamas. If you look closely, you'll see that it's nose is sunburned. ;)

-Rose and Psyche

**Production Note:** We have just found out that Eustace was outraged at being abducted from 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader'. He apparently has kept it a secret all this time because Edmund threatened to tell the world that Eustace still sleeps with his Teddy Bear. Apparently Lucy let it slip and now Eustace is voicing his complaints. Peter, reportedly, hasn't stopped laughing.


	26. The Abolition of Man

The Abolition of Man

* * *

_For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand._

~ Timothy 4:6

* * *

That night Lucy could not sleep.

The wind crept around the tent flap and she could see the trees, swaying, whispering leaves flashing in the moonlight. It was as if the leaves were talking as they twined, leaning towards each other to breath softly something that could not be said aloud. With a sigh, Lucy turned over and punched he pillow trying to get it more comfortable.

"Lucy?" Susan's voice came from the corner of the tent, "What's wrong?"

Lucy sat up, staring at the darkness where Susan lay. "I feel as if something terrible is going to happen."

"What?" Susan asked and Lucy knew that she was afraid too.

"I'm going to get up," Lucy said. She rolled to her feet, dumping her blankets aside and groping through the darkness for her dress.

Susan lay there, watching her. A dread was forming in the pit of her stomach, and she shivered, knowing that Lucy was right, something was about to happen, she could touch it in the air and hear it whispered in the trees. Susan found her own dress and writhed into it, then fumbled in the dark to tie Lucy's laces.

"This dress is far too big for you," Susan whispered.

"I think it's one of yours," Lucy replied, stooping out of the entrance of the tent. "Let's go look for Aslan. I think if I could just talk to him I would feel better."

Susan followed her out of the tent into the moonlit camp. They walked through the camp, treading softly on the silver dew-laden grass. Tent pegs threw long shadows under the moon and the metallic embroidery on the tents shimmered, as if the tents themselves were formed of silver wire.

"Look," Susan nudged Lucy.

Lucy looked where Susan pointed and saw a huge form, washed with moonlight, just moving into the woods. They saw a shaggy head and a long graceful back.

It was Aslan.

"Aslan!" Lucy called, but a moment more, he had vanished, melting into the shadows.

"We can catch up," Susan said softly.

They crept after him into the woods. His great shadow became one with the dark reflections of the trees and the long shafts of moonlight. They could only see him by his gleaming, moonlit mane.

They followed him for some time, stepping through the soft moss that ran like a carpet between the trees. Then quite suddenly, they saw that he had stopped and was looking back at them. Very slowly they drew closer.

"Why are you following me?" he asked, his voice low and tired.

They were silent as they looked at him, meeting his great, beautiful eyes, shot through with gold and silver, sorrow and suffering.

"I'm so afraid," Lucy said and suddenly, to Susan's horror, threw her arms around Aslan's neck and buried her face in his mane, loosing herself as she might have lost herself in golden water.

"We wanted to ask you… what was wrong," Susan explained.

Aslan closed his eyes very slowly and opened them again, "I must drink a bitter cup and I can only beg my father to take it away."

"What cup?" Lucy asked. "Please tell us! At least let us come with you!"

He turned to look at her with deep sadness, "Thank you; come with me as far as the edge of the forest so I may be with you as long as possible. Very soon, all must leave me."

"Why are you doing this, Aslan?" Susan begged.

"Because I promised I would." Aslan said, turning.

The woods were completely silent as if the trees, the clouds and the silver stars were holding their breath, afraid even to make a sound. Usually in such a place at night there is the singing of the crickets and the lullaby of the frogs, but the silence was complete and profound. Time itself dared not to move.

Susan shivered, fear rippling through her and very hesitantly, she reach out and buried her hand in Aslan's mane, feeling the warm silkiness of it. There seemed to be a strange perfume about it and a feeling like the warmth of the sun rippled up her arm and filled her with strength.

The slope was getting steeper and the branches of the trees swelled with buds that had not yet opened though spring was well advanced everywhere else. At last, they heard the sighing of the wind, coiling around their legs and groveling on the ground as if it were begging them to stop. They shivered.

"Sir," Susan said, "Isn't this the hill of the Stone Table?"

"Yes."

They walked on, around the grotesquely twisted trunks of half grown trees, through shadow and darkness. The moon could bear the sight no longer and looked away, drawing a heavy cloud across her face and ahead they heard a sound of murmuring and Aslan stood still.

"Here you must stop," he said, turning to look at them with a sudden rush of emotion, "Thank you, my dearest queens. You were watching, you did not sleep through my pain."

"Don't go on! Please!" Lucy begged, clinging to him with a half formed idea of what was about to happen.

"Dearheart, I must," he said softly.

"Then let us come with you," Susan whispered.

"No," Aslan replied.

Susan glanced around, her eyes wandering over shadows and moonlight and the course bark of the trees, then she pulled Lucy down behind a large boulder. As they watched him turn away and walk, slowly, through the dark forest they could almost hear his voice blown on the breath of the wind and whispering in the trees, _I shall return._

They could see torchlight flicker on the dark trunks of the trees, as if the forest itself was alight. The woods ended before them, leading up a small slope to a ring of rough hewn stones, towering against the cloudy sky. The Stone Table crouched between them, a dark shadow beneath the bloody light. There was a great horde of creatures all around, horrible creatures and the Witch herself stood on the table, her silver gown shimmering like fire in the torchlight.

There was an awful stench.

"What are they doing?" Lucy gasped.

"I don't know!" Susan said, but deep in her heart, she knew.

"He has come!" the Witch leapt down from the table, like a white deer, her long hair streaming behind her. "Bind him!"

The horde seemed to hold back for a moment, then at the Witch's cry they fell upon him with cords. There seemed to be a spider's web of them, coiling around him, then drawing tight. Aslan bent his head and made no move to stop them.

"Put him on the Stone Table!" the Witch cried.

The creatures gathered around, heaving and pushing, kicking and pulling until at last Aslan had been pulled up onto the table. Through her tears, Lucy could see his golden eyes gleaming in the torchlight; calm… desolate.

The Witch looked down at him for a moment, her face puckering. Even tied; he was still magnificent with his mane rippling golden in the firelight.

"Shave him!" she cried. "Shave his glory from him!"

Sheers and daggers were drawn out and they snipped, cut and tore Aslan's golden mane from his neck. Blood ran freely from where their knives sliced him and they shouted and chortled in joy, holding aloft their trophies. The ground was littered with hair and it seemed to the two girls behind the rock that it still glowed with its own fire.

Aslan was smaller without his mane, yet he seemed no less noble; but the Witch smiled with satisfaction and drew a long stone knife out of her belt. It curved like a black thorn and the firelight washed over it, rippling in strange designs as she slowly curled both her pale hands around it and held it up.

"Now listen, Lion," she whispered, leaning down, "you have used me, you have used me since I first entered this world; I always made darkness, but you changed it to light. Every word you have spoken has come to pass though I struggled to stop it. Your four children entered this world to liberate it, though I fought against it. I came to ruin this land, but you have caused me to cleanse it; you have ruled my hand.

"Now, at last I will rule you; at last the time has come that you will regret all you have done. Now you will die!"

Then she threw back her head and, closing her eyes, drove the blade of the knife deep into Aslan's side. It reached his heart and blood poured over his golden hide in a crimson river as his eyes closed and his breath left him. The Witch stood, staring down at him, her face seeming almost puzzled.

"I have won," she said, looking at the still form of the Lion. "I have won at last… but it was too simple."

Cheers rent the air and that gray horde of creatures writhed among themselves, dancing in a mad frenzy. Their eyes rolled back into their heads and they shouted strange words. Choking smoke whirled through the air; spiraling from the torches they held in their hands. They seemed to be drawing closer and their voices chorused in a weird frightening call, their hands rising.

Susan and Lucy stared, petrified, clinging to each other, hoping against hope that they would not be found them, because they knew they would be torn limb from limb by that frenzied crowd.

Then they _were_ found. A small gray wolf stood a few feet away, staring at them, his eyes wide and gleaming in the moonlight. It was Loki. He gave them one long look of sadness as if he were drinking them up, then he slipped away and they saw him no more for the crowd.

"Now!" the Witch's voice rang above the noise, "we will fall back to my castle and prepare for war!"

Susan peeked up above Lucy's head and watched as the Witch mounted Yce and galloped out of the clearing with the others after her. There was the sound of pounding feet and the shouts of many voices and the whole of that gray horde rushed from the clearing after her.

A moment more and all was silence, but there was still a hush, as if the forest was holding its breath.

"They're all gone now, Lucy," Susan said quietly.

"Wait!" Lucy whispered, seizing her arm. Susan turned and looked and they both froze.

Something was moving across the clearing ahead of them…misty, curling like smoke. They choked at the stench and realized that they had been smelling it all along. It was huge; a giant that seemed to be in the shape of a man, but with far too many arms. The eyes burned in its raptor-like head, the iron beak gleaming dully from the light of its eyes. It streamed away into the woods after the Witch and her people, and the rotten smell that had so overpowered them suddenly vanished.

"What was it?" Lucy gasped and it seemed to her that it was something far more repulsive, far more evil then even the Witch. "What was it?" she clutched Susan.

"I don't know!"

"Is it gone?"

"I don't know!"

They huddled there, shivering in the darkness, their teeth chattering even though it wasn't so very cold. They felt sick, sick to their stomachs and they stared, their wide eyes fixed on the place where they had last seen _It_. Then the cloud that had been over the moon slid aside and a long shaft of moonlight tumbled down from the sky to strike the stone table with silver light.

"Shall we…shall we go to him?" Lucy whispered, "Is it safe?"

Susan shook her head wordlessly, then slowly rose, clutching Lucy's hand. The few yards across the burnt grass seemed a hundred miles.

Aslan laid quietly, his golden eyes closed. He looked just as noble and just as wonderful as he had, even without his mane and still his blood poured across the smooth marble of the table in a dark stream. As it dripped slowly off the edge, it filled strange channels cut in the stone, one crevice after another, and they saw the word, 'Eternity' written in ancient and beautiful script.

_Not eternity. Don't leave us for eternity_, Susan thought, closing her eyes.

"Perhaps we can unite the ropes?" Lucy whispered.

They tried, but the knots were as hard as rocks. Susan tried to cut them with her dagger, but the ropes bit into his body and she was loathed to slice him.

In black despair, they both sat down next to the table. For them, the world had suddenly ended.

Aslan was dead.

It was a sickening, heart rending, teeth chattering feeling that they never forgot as long as they lived. Once, Susan had watched a candle flickering in a dark room, a single flame casting shadows on the walls. Then someone had leaned over and blown out the flame and all was darkness. It was very much like that. It was as if they could no longer see, as if the light were gone, the songs ended, the earth cold. They had no future…she jumped.

"What is it?" Lucy asked.

"Something just ran over my hand!"

Lucy looked down and saw something small and dark scurrying though the grass.

"It's a mouse!"She said; a spark of interest gleamed in her eyes for a moment, then faded.

They watched as it climbed up on one of the legs of the table, moonlight showing the veins in its ears and painting each whisker in silver. A moment later, it disappeared over the top, tail twisting for balance.

"What's it doing?" Lucy asked standing up.

"I don't know," Susan said. They looked over the body of Aslan and saw a whole horde of mice seething over him and lining up in long rows at the ropes that crossed him. Suddenly a rope popped, then another and another until Aslan was completely freed.

For a moment, they felt better… but it wasn't better.

He was still.

"Susan," Lucy whispered, "I'm so scared."

They sat for a while on the table next to him, watching as the tracing shadows shifted over the ground beneath the standing stones, marking out the time. There was silence, but it wasn't that horrible silence that it had been, it was a velvet, sad silence, as if everything had had a good cry and was now quiet.

Softly, then, they heard the nightingale, singing silver-like in the forest; the sweet, sad notes sounding like a dirge. As they sat and looked up, the towering stones seemed to turn into the silent walls of a cathedral and the lonely bird like the sweet voice of a singer lamenting life.

"Do you remember it?" Lucy asked softly.

"What?"

"The song they sang at Deidre's funeral," Lucy replied, then slowly began to sing, her sweet voice mingling with the nightingale's. "_Good bye, dear one, travel far. Blown with stars' breath, Down the moonbeams to rest On the silver shore_.

Quietly, stumblingly, Susan's silver voice joined Lucy's golden one, her tears flowing afresh down her face, _"Death swept like a rainbow With gilded wings outstretched, Her gentle hand drawing life From the fading eyes she caressed. Alas, dear one, good bye."_

The night was cold and Lucy was shivering and at last Susan stood up and took her hand. They wondered back and forth between the Stone Table and the woods, their hearts like lead, at last stopping on the eastern edge of the hill to look over the rippling, endless sea to where it met the crimson painted sky. The next moment the edge of the sun began to creep, shimmering, above the horizon, casting light before it.

The dark silhouettes of the hills, their sides plunging steeply into the sea, rose to the south; rust sided in the long rays of the sun. On one of the very tallest hills rose a dark, even shape, like a reclining giant and they knew at once that it was Cair Paravel, the castle at the mouth of the Great River.

Not many minutes later, there was a crashing in the underbrush and quickly Susan seized Lucy's hand and dragged her out of sight behind the table. They watched in fear as a horseman burst into the clearing, ducking to avoid the low branches, another following close behind. They milled around, the horses snorting and shying at the shadows thrown by the rising sun. At last the horsemen dismounted and came slowly towards the table and the Lion stretched silent on his side.

"It's Peter and Edmund," Lucy whispered, standing up.

"As-" Susan began.

"We know," Peter said heavily, striding over to her. "Loki told us, he was here last night. Are you all right?"

"There's nothing can be done?" Lucy asked, beginning to cry again. Peter, with tears pouring down his own face, picked her up and held her close.

"We'll do all we can, Lucy," he said softly, "there's always hope."

"He was hope," she whispered, her words muffled in his shoulder.

* * *

**Author's Note:** We are late with this chapter because the **Production Note** was standing too close to a firework when it went off, back on the 4th, and we had to wait until it was out of hospital before we could go ahead.

Besides that, finals are coming up for Psyche and an eight page paper has been successfully written down and submitted. After this it will just be intensive cramming for a test (which is a bit counter productive seeing as she can never remember anything at all).

On another note, the Lion Awards were held over at The Lion's Call. Much to our surprise and delight, several of our stories were nominated for awards and two of them won. The Eustace Award went to _The Once and Future King,_ for best long fiction in progress, and _Narnia Recycled_ bagged the Lasaraleen Award for most intentionally outrageous Mary-Sue. Many thanks to all who nominated and voted for these stories, it was a great honor to win.

~Rose and Psyche

**Production Note:** Rose and Psyche are pleased to announce that they are releasing a new line of beauty products. Three of the tetrarchs will sponsor one personalized product for now, but if this is a success we're looking at plans for expanding the line. These products will hit the shelves in the next few days. Stay tuned!

We will be offering:

Valiant hair conditioner, to keep your hair looking like you didn't just get in from a 20 mile ride.

Magnificent and manly red-and-gold tooth brushes. They work while you sleep, in case you forget your nightly cleaning ritual.

Lavender perfume that is Gentle enough for anybody, no matter how badly you react to scents.

King Edmund is abstaining from this project. He believes that no beauty product will do him any good. We believe that he can't be bothered. He is conducting an experiment between takes on the relative speed of sails vs. earth worms. This obviously takes all of his mental prowess, not to mention his free time. None of have ever seen him working on this 'experiment.'

(Don't blame any of this craziness on Psyche...Rose takes entire responsibility for all consequences.)


	27. The Problem of Pain

The Problem of Pain

* * *

_No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear._

~ C. S. Lewis

* * *

The sun did not shine that day.

The clouds that rippled over them were silent, tumbling in and out of each other; mist on mist, silver on silver, tarnishing the great hills that rose around them, as if the earth itself wept.

When they arrived in the camp, it was day.

Lucy was silent as Peter lowered her down from his horse and quietly, she walked away, her face set.

"What happened?" Eustace asked, but his words died on his lips as he watched her. She sat down in the mouth of her pavilion, looking blankly on as Peter's orders to strike the camp were swiftly carried out.

Eustace tried to ask her what was wrong, but she was silent and even talk of Carolus Linnaeus in Narnia did not raise a spark of interest out of her.

"Confound it all!" Eustace exclaimed. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Lucy looked at him at last with a blank, empty gaze, "Eustace," she said quietly, "I'm learning to live in despair."

Eustace threw up his hands in frustration and at last got up and left her there. He found Peter and Edmund, talking in low voices as they loosened the guy wires on their pavilion and watched it collapse on the ground. He demanded, then, that they tell him what was wrong.

"And where's Aslan?"

They were suddenly silent, looking at each other and at last Peter turned to him.

"Don't ask, Eustace, please," he said quietly.

"Of all the beastly cheek!" Eustace exclaimed. "I'll leave you to yourselves, then!"

He turned away, angrily, his hands sunk deep in his pockets, but he couldn't help noticing in the corner of his eye how creatures would stop talking and stare at him, then slink away.

He knew something terrible had happened and somehow… it had something to do with him.

Were they all angry still?

Eustace sat in the shadow of a cart, nursing his resentment for some time, feeling more and more as he had in the Witch's house. Then tears started to trace their way down his face and he looked up into the great expanse of the sky. Softly, caressingly, he felt the rain beginning to fall, striking his cheeks and washing his tears away as if the heavens shared his sorrow.

"Oh, Aslan!" he gasped. "You said I was to sacrifice it to you! And I will, I promise!"

That was when the pain came again, stabbing so deeply into his heart he gasped.

Crystal, the white mare, found him sometime later. She was lost in her own grief, her mate, Yce, was still in the hands of the Witch and somehow, she felt herself bound to the little Human that she had helped rescue the day before.

"It's a time of War," she said very quietly when she saw him hunched over in the rain, "and in times of war, it is permissible for Humans to ride talking horses… I thought… since you can't ride very well, you might want a friendly lift? I heard we're leaving very soon."

"Thank you," Eustace said. "I'd be honored to accept."

He climbed up on the side of the cart and swung his leg over the mare's smooth, white back. He could feel her warmth seeping into him as she turned away and ambled slowly through the half dismantled camp… and she could feel his cold seeping into her.

At last, all had been packed away and after a last walk around the meadow, Peter swung astride his horse and gave the order to march.

They wound down from the hill weaving through the trees that stood brilliantly green in the rain, bowing in their dresses of velvet moss. The trees were swaying though there was no wind and it seemed that they heard voices, weeping in the rain. Eustace looked up at them, wonderingly as he rode, Crystal ambling along quietly, her hooves sinking in the damp grass. There was mist drifting through the trees and as they came into another meadow, they saw the ancient gray ruins of a castle, rising out of the bobbing wild flowers.

The birds were singing in the rain and they could see them fluttering through the branches of the trees, bright drops of water sparkling in the air as they shook their wings. It wasn't something they could describe afterwards; it was more than beautiful, it was exquisite and mysterious, wonderful and deeply sad.

Very soon, the scouts Edmund had sent ahead returned, saying that the enemy had already begun to assemble across a great green field in front of the river, next to a forest of trees.

"We'll ride ahead," Peter said, looking around, "Susan? Lucy?"

"We'll come." Susan said; Lucy was silent.

"Martin," Peter said, "I want the army moving faster, I know it's hard, but it must be done. We must secure the ground as Aslan told us."

"Coming Eustace?" Edmund asked, wheeling his horse.

"Just don't go _too _fast," Eustace whispered into Crystal's white pricked ear, "or I'll be falling off again."

They rode on; a small group of horsemen went with them. The horses had a strange spark of excitement to them and they leapt forward, thundering through the mist as if they were the mist themselves. Ahead of them, the ground seemed flat, sloping only slightly and as they reached a low rise, they could see hills tumbling away to the right and beyond them, a shadow among shadows, Cair Paravel, the lady on the hill with the sea sweeping around her feet like a dress's train.

They passed into forest again, the horse's hooves making very little sound on the sodden ground. Eustace saw out of the corner of his eye, a spider's web stretched beneath a branch of a tree, all set with diamonds and glittering in the shadows.

The trees were thin and they rose very constantly uphill. Very soon the company came out on the crest with the magnificent forms of Elms stark against the sky in a long, noble grove. Below them, the cavalry was entrenched. A few stray arrows from an enemy just beyond the ridge rattled down on the neck of the hill as the leader of the cavalry, a tall black centaur came galloping towards them.

"Sire!"

"Ahearn!" Peter said, dismounting and motioning to the others to do the same. "How goes it?"

"Well enough, we've pretty well stopped them in their tracks. They've crossed the river and they were trying to cross that plain, but we have been able to drive them back." Ahearn paused, looking at Peter seriously, "I think that if they knew how few we are they would not be so cautious."

"There will be reinforcements very soon," Peter said calmly. "You have done well. Our battle will be fought here, on these ridges."

How could he be calm? Eustace wondered as he rested his hands on Crystal's withers. Or perhaps his calmness came from despair like the others.

"We must take Beruna…and that little hill next to it, as soon as possible." Peter was saying as he walked next to the centaur to stand on the ridge, looking down at the sweeping brilliant plane that opened before them. They looked down to the Great River, sweeping along in her massive course, moving as she had moved for centuries to surge into the sea. On both banks of the River, the mass of the Witch's army seemed very black and terrible.

"The Witch has not joined them yet," Edmund commented. "We ought to wage our battle before she comes if we can."

_Else we'll all be turned to stone… again_, Eustace thought grimly.

"We're spread out too thin, sire," Ahearn said, stopping beside him.

"I realize that," Peter said, looking up. "I was only thinking aloud. What are the positions of the enemy?"

"That small hill over there, Wolf Hill I believe it's called, and that line of woods before the river. I fear they outnumber us greatly."

"_How_ are we going to face them?" Susan asked, catching her horse's head as the mare reached out to tear the leaves away from a freshly sprouting oak sapling.

"There are not numbers enough in all of Archenland and Narnia to match them," Peter replied, "But we are not fighting by numbers, but by valor; we are enough. The whole is more than the sum of its parts."

~o*o~

A Gryphon carried a basket of chipmunks, who were master sculptors, aloft and the chipmunks recreated an accurate map of the area out of clay and sand (it's rumored that there were a few acorns included in the mix). It was placed in a tent with the flaps rolled up and the sun slanted down, lighting the little colored flags that marked the positions of each Narnian regiment and the general positions of the enemy.

The hills formed a small chain, marked by a slight swelling of the ground in the map. Beruna was the smallest, on the extreme eastern side and Wolf Hill was next to it. They had the sloping ground below the two hills, but it wasn't enough. They needed to be on the hills themselves.

Below them, the valley stretched out and rose to meet the hills, great monuments of earth. The sun's rays had touched their crests in a dazzling and wild play of light and dark beneath the rolling mist.

"I suggest we put a division on the ridge below Wolf Hill." Martin was saying, unconsciously pawing a furrow in the ground. "If we do not, the enemy will come down there and flank us. As I have taught you, our right is more vulnerable than our left."

"What about Beruna?" Edmund said, reaching out to touch the little bump that marked the hill.

"We must put someone up there too, but the enemy hasn't made a move toward Beruna yet." Peter said, "I think Wolf Hill ought to be our first objective."

"Sire," Martin said. "Allow me to take a regiment and drive the enemy off the ridge below Wolf Hill, I may even be able to take the hill today."

Peter stared at him, doubt rising in his heart, "you are our commanding general, Martin, if you are killed, the battle is lost."

"I will not be killed," Martin looked very noble and strong… almost indestructible, his chestnut coat gleaming in the half-light under the fitful clouds.

Peter looked at Edmund, then at Susan and Lucy, where they stood on the other side of the table, looking down at the map. The decision was his to make and he did not know what to say.

"Very well," Peter said, looking up. "You can do what you want."

"Thank you, sire," Martin said, bowing, then turned and cantered away, tail streaming like fire, to muster his men.

"What will happen to them?" Lucy asked as she watched him go.

"They'll hold the ridge," Peter said calmly. "And try to take the hill."

~o*o~

The battle for Wolf Hill was the first real action on the day, of the war actually. It was hard fighting, real fighting, something even Martin had never experienced. Those brave creatures on that ridge suddenly saw life and death and they held fast, even with the odds were against them. The casualties of the day were great, but they took the ridge, though the hill still eluded them.

Susan worked hard over the wounded that night. She was too numb to be bothered by the bloody gashes and wounds and the groans and screams of the dying. She had been frightened before, wondering how she would feel when she saw her first war wound, but when the first casualty was brought in, his leg nearly severed through, she thought of nothing but helping him.

She hardly noticed the pass of time as blood spattered her face and stained the walls of the tent like rust. Blood soaked hands reached out to seize hers and the tent flaps rippled in the night wind sending cold fingers among the wounded.

Strangely enough, Eustace came to help her. He had been little use anywhere else, but here, he seemed to have an endless patience and a deep respect for the wounded soldiers all around them. Once, when she cut the shirt off one of the soldiers and revealed a wound so deep his ribs glittered dully, she had to turn away and catch her breath, but Eustace's gaze never wavered and his voice never changed as he spoke quietly to the man, reassuring him.

"How do you do it?" she whispered.

"I care about them," he said simply. "I think I'm finally watering the right seed."

Lucy slipped into the tent, her eyes wide.

Calls came from all sides and the rest of the night, she held the hands of the wounded and gave them drinks of water. Somehow, the sight of her made them fight for life. It was little Lucy in dusty green velvet, her curls golden and her smile bright, despite everything.

She talked to them, about happy things; she told them stories about her world, her stay in Archenland, her great trek across Narnia. She sang for them, her voice was high, soprano, like a choir singer. It made that bloody canvas tent more like a cathedral then a place to store wounded soldiers.

~o*o~

Lucy could bare it no longer and slipped away from the tent to sit beneath one of the giant Elms. The clouds had melted away in the afternoon and the moon was high, her rays slanting through the delicate fiber of the grass stalks and painting the veins in silver wire. She could see the huge valley below them, the dark line of trees, the river, glowing like liquid silver. She could see the bridge the enemy had built out of rafts across the river.

Yet in her heart was black despair and she was not sure if she was afraid, or only terribly sad. She thought it was both and as she looked up, she knew with heavy heart that she had loved herself more than she had loved Aslan.

So ended the first day.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I have finally completed my courses for the summer and it seems that I got A's, let's just hope that is the case. ;) Rose wrote the Production Note again this week, so enjoy! Apologies for the late posting. I am going to endeavor to reply to everyone, soon.

~Psyche

**Production Note:** This week on the set of The Once and Future King we had a rather unusual visit from a male member of the British royalty. We were a bit surprised, due to the royal baby mania. Our royal guest gave a much lauded pep talk to the cast and crew, including a few tips ranging from equine sports to how to survive boring council meetings. It was not until he left that we realized that we did not recognize him at all. It turned out that he was none other than Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.

In our defense, King Arthur was wearing a business suit, not armor, as we would have expected.

**P.S.** King Edmund brought our attention to a mistake in our last Production Note. He is, in fact, studying snails, not, as stated, sails.

**Blog:** We have a blog! you can find more information about our blog (as well as the link) on our profile. We'll be talking about everything that we find interesting...which is a lot of things.


	28. Killer Angels

Killer Angels

* * *

_War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend._

~ J. R. R. Tolkien

* * *

The sun burst on them in the morning, first stretching across the fields, then rising into the sky to glitter in the dew and raindrops that scattered over the ground. The mountains were only shadows, layered against the distance, with the mist streaming away from their heads like cloaks and hanging in the valley, just touching the river. Peter had not slept the night before. He had been awake, staring down at the model of the battlefield and wondering if he was a fool.

Susan was the first to come up to him and as he turned to look at her he saw that she had been awake, too and her dress was stained with blood from fighting all together different battles. He saw the circles under her eyes and her dark hair slipping loose of her bun.

"Peter," she said softly, putting a cup of tea into his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said, gesturing to her dress.

"We've saved them all, Peter; they will live to fight again for you today."

Peter nodded, a new conviction in his soul… they were fighting and he had little doubt that they would not all die. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, feeling yet again a little girl who sought her brother for comfort.

"Mum and Dad… would be _so_ proud of you, Peter," she whispered in his ear.

~o*o~

Peter sent Winston, a loyal bulldog, down to Wolf's Hill with his warband of noble dogs and orders for Martin to return to camp.

An hour later, Martin came.

Edmund and Lucy had drifted into the war tent quite early and they were all sitting silently on stools, solemnly drinking tea and eating scones, while the war lords milled around.

"You'd think by their long faces that they were drinking dish water and eating rocks," Eustace commented to Crystal as they stood some distance away, watching.

They never forgot the look in Martin's eyes. One day of brutal fighting had worn him down to a shadow of the centaur he had been. He made his report, fighting against sleep and at last, Peter told him to go away and rest.

"What's our next step?" Edmund asked, looking up at Peter as the others watched Martin limp away.

Peter shook himself, then looked down at the map, his finger running gently along the ridge of hills, "For the time being, we've lost Wolf Hill, but here, at this little hill, Beruna, our flank is unprotected. If they take the heights, then our lines will be in grave danger."

"Is there anyone on it now?" Susan asked.

"No," Peter said. "But that will probably be what they'll do today… unless we stop them."

"Sire," Lord Peridan said. "I put myself and my men at your service. I have a hundred spears in my command."

"I cannot send you alone," Peter said looked up, then scanned the silent faces of the warlords, Peridan, Paladan, Pryderi, Ron and Ronan, Gallagher, Mactíre. Pryderi, cantref lord, commanded two hundred spears and if he could only send them both, then he knew they would defend the hill. But Pryderi would take orders from no man and Peridan would not bend to his will.

A second later, he locked eyes with Edmund and knew that he was thinking the same thing.

"Right, when do I start?" Edmund asked.

Peter stared at him blankly.

"I'm volunteering," Edmund said simply. "I'll go with the warlords you choose, I'll lead the expedition."

Pryderi muttered an exclamation.

Peter shook his head, "No, I'll go."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're falling asleep on your feet and anyway, you're the chap in charge. It wouldn't do you getting hurt."

"You may be killed." Peter replied.

"Peter," Susan said quietly, so low the warlords could not hear her. "It's very likely that we're all going to be killed anyway. Remember what you said so long ago? It's more than us now; this is something we must do, even if it hurts. They'll follow Edmund."

"Exactly," Edmund said.

"I still think it ought to be me," Peter said quietly.

"So it's settled then?" Edmund asked.

"Good lad," Peter said almost hoarsely, then took his brother by the shoulders and squeezed them firmly. "Good luck."

"I don't believe in luck anymore," Lucy said, speaking for the first time. "I don't think things happen by chance. Something good must come of all this… it must."

"Very well," Edmund said turning back to the warlords, "Peridan and Pryderi, assemble your warbands. We will march as soon as possible."

Silently they both bowed and Edmund almost smiled as he turned to leave. He strode away firmly, with measure to his step. Peter watched him go, it had been the same with Martin and he had come back beaten…

"He'll need provisions, he can't go off and fight a war without them… and he must remember to bring a hat," Susan said striding after him.

"Peter?"

Peter turned to see Eustace leaning against a tent pole, his hands deep in his pockets.

"You need to rest," Eustace said, "it isn't humanly possible to lead an army without sleeping, you haven't slept all night."

"Neither has anyone else," Peter grunted, looking back down at the map. "I have work to do."

"I know," Eustace said quietly, "And you are the only one who can do it. You are the only one who is holding this show together. Peter, stop for a moment and listen: What would happen if you made a mistake or a bad decision because you couldn't think? This army _needs_ you Peter."

"I must keep on," Peter said again.

"Don't be a blithering idiot, Peter! You _know _that's ridiculous!"

"I agree," Lucy said, rousing herself.

Peter stared at them for a moment, a stubborn set to his jaw. Eustace stared back, but Lucy's gaze had wandered back to the hills.

"All right," Peter said finally, half smiling, "You win, but I'll see Edmund off first."

~o*o~

Edmund felt nothing but the rhythm of his horse's gait. Umbra, his dark gray steed, arched his neck and almost seemed to prance and Edmund relaxed, knowing that his tension was going through the horse.

It was going to be a hot day, Edmund thought, as he looked up at the sun that it burned down on them, he could feel it already. The soldiers that followed him in a long column seemed hardly to make a sound as they trudged up the little hill that was called Beruna. The birds were singing, strange for such a day, but as Edmund looked up, he saw them dancing through the branches, flirting their little tails and bursting into warbling song.

Then they were on the hill.

It was smaller than he had thought it would be, yet somehow almost larger. It was rocky, covered sparsely by trees near the bottom, but there were no trees at the very top, except for one sickly fir. There was hardly any underbrush, but there were boulders everywhere. From the south, there was a clear view of mountains running down to green valleys and a distant inlet of the sea, but from the north, towards the enemy, the trees struggled with each other down the slope.

"Shard," Edmund said, reining in Umbra. Silently, the white wolf ghosted to his side.

"Yes, Sire?"

"I want you to take creatures and scout the hill. If the enemy comes from any angle, we must know."

Shard turned slipping among the rocks like a white shadow. Edmund sat on his horse for a little while longer, slowly turning him in place until he had seen all he needed. Slowly, he dismounted.

"What are your orders, sire?" Lord Peridan asked, swinging off his own steed. Pryderi dismounted as well and, taking his long bow off his saddle, braced it against his foot, bending it so he could string it. He looked at Peridan with a haughty gaze; he was the only man in Archenland who could draw such a bow.

Edmund ignored him, his mind focused on the task ahead, "We are going to build ourselves a fort."

And they built it.

Muscles cracked with effort as boulders were rolled into place, smaller stones filled in the cracks. The hawks circled overhead, scouting and calling their battle screams as the sun rose higher and hotter, burning down on them. Sweat rolled freely, beading their brows and glittering like dew as they worked.

Finally, Edmund called a halt and the archers found their places, bent their bows and tested the strings. Sheaves of arrows were handed around and the archers cut the thongs holding them, readying them for battle.

Then they waited.

The birds had stopped singing and there was only silence, a deep, waiting silence that went shivering up their spines and left their hands shaking. Edmund waited, standing; one hand on Umbra's saddle while the horse grazed. He watched, wondering as Umbra moved carefully, his lips feeling for the softest shoots that grew between the stones.

He watched a line of squirrels as they tested their strings; their bows were small, yet powerful, recurve bows. The centaur's bows were tall as a man, made of gleaming wood.

As he watched, old words seemed to ring in his head. He could not place them, but they were emblazed on his heart in letters of gold, _He makes my feet like hind's feet so I can stand on high places; he trains my hands for war, he makes my arms strong to bend a bow of bronze…_

"Sire,"

Edmund looked down to see Shard.

"The enemy approaches from the north."

"Thank you Shard," He said, then spoke then louder, "Everybeast ready, wait until my command, then fire at your own will. We must not let them up here."

Then they saw the enemy, charging up the hill through the trees. Ugly things, horrible, werewolves, hags, Cyclops, ogres… even good beasts that had gone bad, centaurs, Minotaurs…closer and closer they came. Bodies shivered, arrows were fitted, bows were bent, anxious eyes turned to Edmund…and still he waited.

He was watching the lead Minotaur; a great black beast with curving horns. His eyes gleamed red and at last Edmund lowered his hand.

"Loose your arrows!" he cried.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Pryderi lean into his bow, muscles bulging. A great sheet of arrows rippled loose of the archers' bows and showered down on the horde. Beasts stopped in their tracks, transfixed. Then they returned fire.

Arrows rattled down around them and everyone leapt to protect the archers with shields. Edmund was among them, urging them on. They fired back, flights of arrows rattling down among the enemy.

It was horrible. Ugly faces coming closer and closer, yet they never came too close.

Then suddenly they watched in awe as the enemy retreated down the hill, disappearing among the trees. A great cheer rose from the Narnians. They had won.

"This time only," Peridan said, "They will be back!"

"Yes," Edmund replied, "but we will be ready."

More arrows were distributed, the wounded and dead were dragged from the stone wall and the archers knelt again, ready.

And they came again, back up the hill. There almost seemed to be more than before, they seemed to be stronger. Again arrows flew, again creatures died. This attack lasted longer than the last. The Narnians were weary, but Edmund urged them on; they would not give up.

More sheaves of arrows were torn open and handed out. They were running low. Then, the last arrow was shot and the enemy retreated again.

"Next time they come we should charge them," Edmund said, glancing at Peridan and Pryderi. "We should distribute the spears."

"If we break we'll lose the high ground," Pryderi argued.

"I know," Edmund said. "But I think we can sweep them off their feet.

Then the enemy approached again and Edmund watched them labor up the hill. He stood almost frozen, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Ready men?" He called, then drew Evyn with a flash and leaped forward, "Charge!"

For a moment, he felt that he was flying as he jumped off the top of the wall. He charged forward, sword upraised, the sound of his feet pounding in his ears. Then a bear came from behind him and leapt at a hag. To the right, his men were making contact; to the left they were driving them back.

They were following him!

He didn't have more than a moment to reflect on this remarkable information before he was swinging his blade with fury. It seemed to him that he was pushing on an open door and they continued to push until the enemy suddenly wavered…then fled.

The Narnians stood watching them go with wonder.

~o*o~

Yesterday was a collision, today was a day of offense.

Eustace and Susan were only able to get Peter to sleep for two hours before he was up again. He sent eagles out to Beruna and they returned, saying that a battle was being fought on the heights.

"They won a victory yesterday, keeping us here," Peter said, "we were only able to take the ridge below Wolf Hill, but they have stopped us in our tracks."

"What are you going to do, then?" Susan asked.

"Edmund is on Beruna," Peter said quietly, "I know he'll stand fast, we're safe from attacks over there. They are attacking both our left and right flanks; I fear they may try to attack us here, in the middle, where we are weakest. But I won't worry about that until tomorrow. Today, they are too busy trying to defend Wolf Hill and take Beruna. I think if we hold today then we will have won the victory."

~o*o~

"Peter?" Susan pulled the tent flap open and cold night air whistled past her.

"Yes?" Peter looked up from a map.

Susan came in slowly and sat down in a chair.

"Peter," she said, "We can't leave Aslan's body all alone on that hill; I think we must bury it. Lucy and I are going over there in the morning."

"You're not." Peter said calmly.

"Why not?!" Susan exclaimed, "He must be buried! You should agree with that!"

"I do," Peter said, "But I don't agree with you two going off and risking your necks over it. I'll send a party over there to bury him. I should have done it sooner, I know; but you'll not be going with them."

Susan stood up, walked to the tent flap and looked back, "You _will _send someone?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Good." She slipped out of the tent.

"Susan!"

She looked back.

"Edmund's going to be back in camp tomorrow," Peter said, "I've sent a general to relieve him."

~o*o~

An hour later, the moon unshrouded her face and looked down on two sights on the earth below.

"Sire?"

Edmund turned to see a huge wolfhound. It was the next morning, no attacks had come during the night, and he had allowed himself to believe he had been victorious.

"Yes?"

"I'm General Mactíre, reporting sire! Your brother has sent me and my men to relieve you of your position here."

"Of course, general, it's good to see you again." Edmund said, "We will turn it over to you."

Nearly a quarter of a mile away, two girls, shrouded in dark cloaks were creeping from the camp, leading a bay mare.

"Peter's going to be mad," Lucy said as she scrambled aboard Mia behind Susan. They hadn't bothered saddling her, they were afraid it would raise suspicion.

"Yes he will," Susan said, urging the mare into a canter, "but I know we must go back."

"So do I." Lucy said, leaning her chin against Susan's shoulder.

~o*o~

When Edmund arrived back in camp Peter pulled him off his horse and hugged him.

"You've done wonderfully!" Peter exclaimed, "Your work alone may have won this battle for us!"

Edmund smiled, "I did no more than anyone else. Where are the girls?"

Peter grew serious. "They left."

"What do you mean?" Edmund asked.

"I think they went to the Stone Table. They took Susan's horse; I don't know how they slipped past the sentries. I sent a party after them as soon as they went missing."

So ended the second day.

* * *

**Author's Note:** So sorry about not replying to reviews…I _am_ planning on it. Thank you so much for the reviews, we do appreciate them.

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Due to a lack of extras the Narnian National Guard volunteered to stand in for part of the witch's army. They had great fun playing 'baddies' and throwing things at each other. There was a minor catastrophe when the Guard got a little too happy with the fireworks.


	29. No Greater Love

No Greater Love

* * *

_Man finds it hard to get what he wants, because he does not want the best; God finds it hard to give, because He would give the best, and man will not take it._

~ George MacDonald

* * *

The moon had disappeared when they reached the hill and the sky was turning brilliant with the rising sun. They could see the sea, mirroring perfectly the sky, endless and calm, a great stretch of tranquility.

They felt a strange peace in their sorrow now, and Susan had let Mia fall to a walk. They heard nothing but the steady thumping of her hooves on the ground. It was so quiet, so perfect.

Suddenly they felt a low rumbling in the ground, Mia half reared, and Susan leaned forward, calming her. A massive rending sound echoed through the trees.

"What is it?" Lucy gasped.

Susan did not answer, but urged Mia forward. The mare responded instantly and exploded into a gallop, feeling the urgency of her two riders. In a few moments, they were to the top of the hill and Mia burst into the open. The force of the sun at the top blinded them as Susan pulled Mia up.

They could see the dark forms of the standing stones as they cast their long shadows; like a tall, solemn circle of protectors. Susan let Mia walk and as they moved closer, they could see the Stone Table itself. Two halves rose against the sky, split by a jagged crack and the body of Aslan was gone!

"Where is he?" Lucy gasped as she slid off Mia and ran to the table, Susan behind her.

"Did they come back and take the body?" Lucy asked climbing up on the table. It creaked dangerously and Susan dragged her off again.

"Aslan! Where are you!?" Susan cried.

"I am here."

They spun around and saw Aslan, his mane glowing in the rising sun that shimmered between the standing stones like gates of splendor. He leapt forward to meet them, as if any moment longer of separation was too painful to bear. They were crying all over again as they buried themselves in his mane and looked into his eyes. Suddenly the light seemed to burst on their souls and the world seemed incredibly beautiful. Despair was gone and there was hope, and where hope is despair is impossible.

"How did it happen?" Susan asked, laughing through her tears. "You were dead!"

"I was dead," Aslan replied, closing his golden eyes as they rested, half lying against him. They could feel his heart, beating, seeming to beat through them, pulsing with life. "There is a law driven in stone, deep as a spear's throw and tall as a mighty ocean. Traitors have a blood price on their heads and must die; only then will the law be settled. My father drove this law into place in the very foundations of the earth; before the clear expanses of the universe were yet created it was there, wrapped through everything and driven into the heart of every creature.

"But there is another law, a different one than the last, written on the heart of the Emperor and emblazoned on the scepter he bears. This is the law of mercy, the law that if a willing and innocent victim gives himself up as a sacrifice in the place of the traitor, then death itself will have no hold.

"The Witch does not understand the law of mercy, she only understands blind justice, not the love of sacrifice."

"Couldn't any of us have done it?" Lucy asked, looking up into his face. Aslan said nothing, but only looked deep into her eyes. She looked back…those eyes, those deep, far seeing eyes. At last Lucy shook her head.

"No, you're right," she said regretfully, "We, none of us, are innocent, are we?"

"Did you know that it would happen that way?" Susan asked.

"I promised I would never let you fall and I promised I would buy Eustace. I could not break my promises. Now children," Aslan said, "We must return to your brothers, they are yet waging a battle and there is another traitor to be settled. Climb on my back."

With exclamations of shock, they looked at him, but at his urging, Susan climbed up on his warm golden back and buried her hands in his mane, Lucy climbed up after her and threw her arms around Susan's waist. They could feel him, living beneath them.

"Are you ready?" Aslan asked.

"Yes," Susan answered breathlessly and they knew that the third day had only begun.

* * *

Dawn looked down to see the Narnians preparing for battle. All across the camp, they were oiling their swords and dawning their armor and the centaurs were brushing their long hair. Flowers were being bound to armor and brightly colored streamers were tied to arms, then the warriors gathered in small circles to clasp each other's hands and bid each other farewell.

"I feel in my bones that today will be our last." Peter said, lifting a heavy shirt of mail so Edmund could squirm into it. They were in their tent, putting on their armor and mail, like everyone else; Eustace sat on a stool, looking on miserably.

"What _are_ we going to do?" Edmund asked; the shirt of mail was heavy, the links gleaming dully as Peter threaded the buckle straps on the cowl and drew them tight.

"We will form our shield wall and fight to the end," Peter replied, stepping back to look at him. Then he reached out and clasped his brother's hand, squeezing it in his own. "We will fight well today, I think."

"I don't know where Aslan is, you won't tell me," Eustace said suddenly and they turned to look at him. "But I can feel his presence. It's with us this morning, it wasn't there yesterday; but I could feel it this morning."

"Let his name be our battle cry," Peter replied.

"Do you remember that song you used to sing in our world?" Eustace asked, standing up. "I always remembered it ever afterwards. I wanted to forget, but I couldn't. Do you remember it?"

Stumblingly he began, his voice wavering in the shadows, "Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight…"

Softly Peter and Edmund joined in, forcing themselves to sing, "Be thou my whole armour, be thou my true might; Be thou my soul's shelter, be thou my strong tower: O raise thou me heavenward, great Power of my power."

"Yes," Edmund said when they had finished and Peter stooped to pick up his sword and unwrap the double belts from around the dark sheath. "Be Thou My Vision. It's an old, old song."

"I'm glad you remembered it," Eustace replied.

Peter half unsheathed his sword, looking again at the dark blade and the rippling of the steel. He could see the words driven deep above the blood channel.

"Did you ever find the light in that sword?" Edmund asked suddenly.

Peter looked up at him, then silently fastened the sword on, the buckles flashing in the sun that streamed through the brocaded tent walls.

"I used to ask it to show me its light," he replied. "But that was my mistake. It wasn't about me, or my courage. It was about all of us.

"It's not going to shine magically, or kill ten thousand men, but it has taught me this; that my life ought to be as clean as simple as it is, or the balance will be off. That's the hidden light Father Christmas was talking about."

He no longer looked for the light of the sword. He had ceased to admire it, or hate it; it had become like a friend and with that friendship had come pain and joy. He no longer thought about death; he had a job to do and he would do it, no matter what the cost.

"I think that was what you were supposed to find," Edmund said. "Light shines brightest in darkness, I think, just as a rose is most beautiful because of the very pain of its thorns. That's what I was supposed to learn from my ring, that I couldn't rely on it for safely, I had to face the danger myself."

"Yes," Peter said. "It's a hard lesson to learn, but a beautiful one."

The tent flap ripped open and Martin strode in. Peter was vaguely glad to see that he was starting to tear into things again.

"Sire?"

"Yes, Martin?"

"There has come a massager from the enemy. Will you speak to him?"

"Of course," Peter said, reaching out to pick up his helmet. "Show him in."

The tent flap rippled and Peter and Edmund turned to see an armored faun enter. He stood looking at them coolly and their eyes met, burning in the gloom. He was silent as Peter slowly put his helmet on and fastened the buckles, then drew his leather gauntlets on his hands. At last, Peter turned to face him.

"What do you have to say?" Peter asked.

"I have come to tell you that our Lady has joined our ranks. You will be crushed today. Your ranks will be turned to stone even as you come."

Silence met his words.

"And?" Peter inquired.

"Our arrows will fly so thickly that they were darken the sky," the faun said the words with such a flat finality that they sent a shiver down Edmund's spine.

"Then we will fight in the shade." Peter replied.

~o*o~

All across the ridge, the warbands had assembled, their lords turning to face Peter for orders. Peter had mounted Ares, his great horse with mane and tail that streamed like black fire in the wind that rushed down from the mountains.

The warlords were mounted on their horses, flanking him and as Peter looked down the long rows of their soldiers, he turned to look at the leaders.

"The host is assembled," he said. "Now the battle will be met. If any of you have grievances, settle them now."

He looked over their faces, all calm in the sunlight; Edmund, Martin, Peridan, Flavis, Pryderi, Ron and Ronin, Equus, Paladin. He hardly knew how he had drawn them together and bound them in a brotherhood of steel. Now they and all their men were willing stand and fight this battle.

"Sire," Peridan said, nudging his horse closer. "Can I say how honored I will be to die by your side?"

"I will be honored to die by yours," Peter replied.

"We may yet live," Edmund said quietly.

The lords were silent, looking out over the mighty valley that stretched before them. The host of the witch's army was assembled and marching in unbroken lines, coming, Edmund thought, as steadily as a steam locomotive.

"Peter?"

Peter looked down to see that Eustace was standing next to his horse, "Let me fight in the battle."

"No," Peter said, then leaned down from the saddle to clasp his cousin's hand. "You have no skill with the sword and would be killed in a few seconds. There is no glory in that."

"I am not looking for glory." Eustace replied, his face taut.

"I know," Peter said. "But you will not find what you are looking for in battle."

"But-"

"There will be no more said," Peter replied then spurred his horse forward. He rode the length of the soldiers, watching their faces, meeting their eyes. At last he swung his horse around in front of them and spoke, his voice ringing down the valley and across the ridge like the roar of the summer wind.

"There are times in history when only a handful of free men stand at the gates between slavery and freedom. We stand there today, here on our own land; I cannot think of a better place to die. You are the foremost in the fray, the vanguard. Others will fight for the same cause long after you are dead, but they will always remember you as the first and the strongest. Here in Narnia, you are the first; in my heart, you are the first; you will never be forgotten!

"Men of Narnia! I've heard it once said that Narnians do not enquire how many the enemy are, but where they are. We know what lies before us, we see it with a clear vision; death lies in the wait, yet we will go out to the fight. War is a grievous thing indeed, but we must face it so those who come after us can live in peace. We have had our orders, here we will stand! Remember, on the conduct of one rests the fate of all."

All across the ridge, a battle cry rose in a thousand throats and the roar of a thousand spears shook the summer air. Peter stood in his stirrups and his hand closed around the hilt of his sword; it hissed free of the sheath as he held it above him, the sunlight caught on the dark blade and set it on fire.

It was Rhindon, _light_ in the old speech.

And he was going to die with it in his hands.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Things have been hectic lately…too much has been happening and summer is too short. Nights are already getting colder. Yesterday, we went to a nature center to watch handlers flying hawks. It was a wonderful sight to see.

~Psyche

**Production Note:** Since the Stone Table was already cracked, it became necessary to quarry a new stone table from mines in the Shaky Mountains. After our art department was finished recreating it in fine detail a new challenge arose: how to crack the thing again. Fortunately, an obliging elephant solved it for us. For a limited time only, you can become a proud owner of a fragment of the new stone table. Don't worry about it cracking, you have to give the ultimate sacrifice in order for it to happen…unless of course you're an elephant.


End file.
